The flutter in Himari's chest from Kawabe's note persisted through the evening, a quiet, warm hum beneath the ordinary sounds of dinner and homework. She found herself glancing at her phone more than usual, the blank screen a minor disappointment each time. Had she expected him to message? It was a silly thought. They had just spent an hour painting together; there was no reason for further communication.
The next morning dawned bright and clear. The routine was a comfort: the ribbon, the bento, the walk down Dōgūza.
"Ohayō, Fujimura-san!"
"Himari-chan. Tell your uncle my shoes are still waiting for that discount."
The bakery was its usual warm self. Uncle Kenji was in a particularly jovial mood, teasing old Mr. Yamada about his crossword puzzle skills. There was no trace of the tension from the men in suits. Auntie Yumi handed Himari a still-warm apple pastry, the one they'd tested yesterday.
"The customers loved it," she said with a smile. "We're calling it the 'Mizube Morning Sun.' Your idea to add a hint of cinnamon was perfect."
The praise, coupled with the delicious pastry, solidified the day's good start. She met Hana, who was, as ever, a whirlwind.
"Okay, I've decided on our festival strategy," Hana announced, swinging her volleyball bag. "We'll work our booth shift early, then we'll 'casually' wander past the 2-C café. Multiple times. We'll create an atmosphere of serendipitous encounter."
"Hana, we're in the same class. Seeing him at the café isn't serendipitous, it's inevitable."
"Details! We need to craft the narrative!"
School was a study in quiet anticipation. Every time the classroom door opened between periods, Himari's eyes flickered towards it, a reflex she couldn't control. During lunch, as they sat on their usual steps, Takumi, of all people, was the one to bring it up.
"So," he said, deadpan, unwrapping a rice ball. "I heard you and Kawabe are single-handedly responsible for the cultural festival's artistic integrity."
Himari nearly choked on her milk. "Who told you that?"
"Riku from 2-B. He said Kawabe won't stop talking about your 'vision.'" Takumi took a large bite. "It's sickeningly wholesome."
Hana beamed. "See! I told you! He's smitten!"
"He's just enthusiastic about his class project," Himari insisted, though she felt a pleased blush creep up her neck.
The afternoon dragged. When the final bell finally rang, Himari packed her bag with deliberate slowness. Would he be in the art room? Was their meeting a one-time thing? She told herself it didn't matter.
But when she pushed open the art room door, he was already there. He had set up two chairs facing the large foam board, and had even brought two bottles of green tea from the vending machine.
"Oh. Tanaka-san. I thought… if you had time…" he said, standing up a little too quickly.
"I have time," she said, her voice thankfully calm.
This session was different. The initial awkwardness was gone, replaced by a comfortable workflow. Himari focused on the delicate lettering within the steam curls, her tongue peeking out in concentration. Kawabe worked on filling in the border of coffee beans, his large hands surprisingly adept at the small task.
They talked. Not about anything important. About the terrible lunch curry from yesterday. About their least favorite subject (math for both of them). About the upcoming volleyball tournament. He asked thoughtful questions about her position as setter, and she found herself explaining the strategy with an enthusiasm that surprised her.
At one point, she reached for a finer brush at the same time he did. Their fingers brushed. It was a fleeting, accidental contact, over in a second. But it sent a jolt through Himari, a static shock of awareness. She pulled her hand back as if burned.
"Sorry," he murmured, his ears turning red.
"It's fine," she said, her own face warm.
The moment passed, but the air in the room felt charged. They worked in silence for a while after that, the only sounds being the soft scratch of brushes and the distant cheers from the baseball field.
When they had finished the main elements, they stood back to admire their work. The menu board looked beautiful. Warm, inviting, professional.
"It's really good, Tanaka-san," Kawabe said, his voice full of genuine admiration.
"We did it together," she corrected him softly.
He smiled then, a real, unguarded smile that transformed his usually serious face. "Yeah. We did."
Walking home, the world seemed sharper, more vivid. The colors of the fading sunset were more intense, the sound of the river more melodic. Her phone, tucked in her pocket, remained silent, but the absence of a message didn't feel like a disappointment anymore. It felt like a pause, a comma in a sentence that wasn't finished.
That evening, after helping at the bakery and eating dinner, she retreated to her room. She opened her sketchbook but didn't draw. She just stared at the page, a small, irrepressible smile playing on her lips. She replayed the conversation, the easy laughter, the accidental touch. The memory of his smile.
Downstairs, the television was on. Her grandfather was watching a talk show. During a commercial break, the screen cut to a news brief. A reporter stood in front of a generic government building.
"...and in a statement released today, the Prime Minister's office reiterated its commitment to 'national unity and understanding' in the face of complex social challenges. The statement, which did not specify any particular issue, was seen by political analysts as a gesture towards…"
Her grandmother changed the channel. "Enough politics. Let's find a comedy."
The sound of laughter filled the house. Upstairs, Himari finally picked up her pencil. She didn't sketch a coffee cup or a mountain. She found herself idly drawing the shape of a kendo helmet.