The morning rain had stopped just before dawn, leaving the streets damp and shining like mirrors. The scent of roasted beans and caramel drifted from the small café on the corner of Hoshizora Street — Café Amour, where love stories brewed as often as coffee.
Toshio stood by the counter, sleeves rolled up, wiping down the tables. He wasn't officially employed there, but lately, he'd been showing up early — every morning since Mina started working part-time.
The doorbell chimed softly. Mina stepped in, hair tucked beneath a beret, wearing the café's soft cream apron over a white blouse. She smiled, sunlight breaking through gray clouds.
"Morning, hero."
Toshio turned, pretending to inspect the espresso machine. "Morning, goddess."
She laughed, hanging her bag on the hook. "Still calling me that?"
"Until you make me stop."
"Then you'll be saying it forever."
"Exactly."
Mina tied her apron and started setting up the pastries. Her movements were light and sure, the same grace she'd once used to wield divine power — now focused on cinnamon rolls and strawberry tarts.
Toshio couldn't help but watch. Every gesture she made shimmered with quiet beauty — the kind that didn't belong to heavens or wars, but to ordinary days.
"Don't stare," she teased, not turning.
He blinked. "How'd you know?"
"I can feel it." She glanced over her shoulder, smiling. "You have a very loud heartbeat."
He smirked. "I'm not the one glowing when I bake."
"Flattery won't get you a free coffee," she said. "But keep trying."
By 9 a.m., customers began to fill the small café. Laughter and chatter mixed with the hum of machines. Mina moved between tables, her smile soft but radiant.
Toshio worked quietly at the bar — pouring, steaming, creating little foam hearts on lattes. Mina noticed them and arched a brow.
"Trying to outdo me?"
"Just expressing my artistic side."
"Well, your 'art' keeps getting extra tips."
"Then I'll keep practicing."
She rolled her eyes, but her cheeks flushed.
As the day went on, Toshio began to notice something: people liked her. Customers came not only for coffee but for Mina's warmth — her laughter, her small talk, the way she remembered names and favorite drinks.
He felt a strange pride swell in his chest. She was living — truly living — in this world now.
That afternoon, when business slowed, Mina and Toshio shared a quiet corner booth for lunch. Rain tapped the window gently again.
Mina took a bite of her sandwich. "You know," she said, "I think this might be the first normal job I've ever had."
"Do goddesses even get paid hourly?" he teased.
"Not usually. But it feels nice to earn things the human way."
He smiled. "You really like it here, huh?"
She nodded. "It's peaceful. Simple. Every time the bell rings, it feels like I'm opening the door to another story."
He chuckled. "You sound like the café owner."
"Maybe I'll buy the place someday."
Toshio leaned forward. "Then I'll work for you."
"You already do," she said softly, and their eyes met across the small table.
A beat passed — long, delicate, filled with quiet meaning.
Then Mina grinned. "Also, you forgot to clean the milk frother."
He groaned. "Dream ruined."
As the sky dimmed, the café emptied, leaving only the two of them. Toshio locked the door while Mina cleaned the counter.
When he turned back, she was holding two mugs.
"One for you," she said, handing him one. "And one for me."
The mugs were mismatched — his, deep navy blue; hers, pale ivory with tiny stars.
He took it carefully. "What's the occasion?"
"Just felt right," she said. "Two cups. One promise."
"What promise?"
"That we'll never forget this — this quiet, simple happiness. Even if the world shifts again."
Toshio looked down into his coffee. The surface rippled, reflecting her face.
"You're scared it'll all fade?" he asked.
Mina hesitated. "Maybe. The goddess in me knows peace never lasts forever. But the human in me…" she smiled faintly, "wants to believe it can."
He reached across the table and tapped her mug with his. "Then we'll make it last."
She blinked. "How?"
"By living it. Every day."
Her smile turned wistful. "You're dangerously good at this."
"Good at what?"
"Saying the right thing."
"I just mean it."
Later, as they walked home under their shared umbrella, the rain softened to mist. Mina leaned close, her hand brushing his.
"You know," she said, "I never imagined my eternity would look like this."
Toshio glanced down. "Disappointed?"
She smiled. "Not even close."
They paused beneath a streetlight, droplets glinting like stars around them. Mina's gaze lifted to his.
"I made that promise because I'm happy," she whispered. "For the first time, I don't need to save or destroy anything. I just want… this."
Her fingers found his, interlacing them. "So, promise me something, Toshio."
He squeezed her hand. "Anything."
"If I ever start fading again, if the divine tries to take me back—"
"I'll fight it," he said without hesitation. "Even if it means breaking the heavens again."
Mina smiled sadly. "You always say that."
"Because I always mean it."
She rose on her toes and kissed him, slow and gentle, rain falling all around.
When she pulled away, her eyes shone with something between love and fear. "Then this time… let's live like we've already won."
That night, back home, Toshio found two mugs on the kitchen counter. Hers still had a faint lipstick mark near the rim.
He washed them both carefully and set them side by side.
Two cups. One promise.
He smiled. "I'll keep it."
And somewhere, unseen, the faintest shimmer of starlight danced across the mugs — the blessing of a goddess who wanted nothing more than to remain human, loved, and free.