Preparations began three days before the celebration. The house grew livelier, not in a noisy way, but with quiet purpose. Fabric boxes arrived one after another, and tailors came and went throughout the day. Shoes were carefully measured, invitations confirmed, and schedules reviewed with precision. Servants moved through the halls with calm efficiency, carrying folded garments from room to room. Lists were checked more than once. Decorations were discussed in low, measured voices. Even the air itself seemed organized, as though every movement had already been decided.
Reina stayed out of the way. She folded linens in quiet corners, wiped tables no one had asked her to clean, and adjusted flowers that were already perfectly straight. No one told her to stop, and no one told her to help. So she chose what felt safest.
To be useful without being seen.
That afternoon, her mother-in-law entered her room carrying a long lacquered box.
"Reina," she called gently.
Reina stood at once.
"Yes?"
"I had something prepared for you." Mother-in-law said, opening a box.
Inside lay a kimono. It was made of soft ivory silk, embroidered with pale plum blossoms. The threads were so fine they caught the light like frost on a winter morning. Reina stared at it because it was beautiful. She lowered her gaze quickly.
"It's too lovely for me," she said quietly.
Her mother-in-law smiled faintly.
"Nonsense. It was made for you."
Reina shook her head slightly.
"It should be worn by someone prettier."
The woman's expression softened, but she did not argue. Instead, she closed the lid partway and said gently,
"Try it on later."
Reina bowed.
"Yes."
But even as she answered, she did not reach for the box.
Hiro noticed the change that evening.
Not all at once, but slowly, in small moments that did not seem important at first. She spoke less than usual.
She kept a greater distance from him.
When she walked, she stayed farther behind. When he entered a room, she quietly left. When he spoke, she responded with a bow. When their paths crossed, she lowered her head faster than before, as if trying to disappear before he could notice her.
At first, he thought nothing of it.
Then he realized.
She was avoiding him.
He stood across the hall and watched her as she wiped a table that was already spotless. Her movements were smaller than usual, more restrained, as though she were trying to take up less space than before. His brows drew together faintly.
"Reina."
She froze. Then she turned and bowed.
"Yes?"
Her voice was calm.
Polite.
Distant.
"Are you unwell?" he asked.
She shook her head.
"No."
Silence followed.
She did not look up.
He studied her for a moment longer.
"I see," he said at last.
He did not press further. But as she walked away, he continued watching her. Something felt wrong. He could not name it. Only that something had changed.
Later that night, his mother noticed as well.
"You upset her."
Hiro looked up from his papers, his expression unchanged.
"She's quieter today." His mother said.
"She's always quiet." Hiro said.
"Not like this." She added.
Silence settled between them. He set his brush down slowly, more out of habit than concern.
"I didn't say anything to her," he said.
His mother tilted her head slightly.
"Did you say anything about her?"
He paused. His eyes shifted just slightly. A memory surfaced.
The study.
The conversation.
The anniversary celebration.
His mother watched as understanding settled across his expression.
"Ah," she said softly.
He leaned back in his chair.
"If she misunderstood, then she misunderstood."
The words were simple.
Final.
His mother studied him.
"You're not going to explain?"
Hiro picked up his brush again, dipping it lightly into the ink.
"There's nothing to explain," he said.
Another pause.
"If she wants to think that way, that's her decision."
His mother's gaze softened, though there was something thoughtful behind it.
"Frightened creatures don't come closer when they are left alone either," she said.
Hiro did not look up.
"Then they don't come closer," he replied.
He returned to his writing as if the matter had already ended. After a moment, his mother smiled faintly.
"...We'll see."
But Hiro did not respond. To him it no longer mattered
In her room, Reina sat beside the unopened box. The ivory kimono remained inside, untouched. Her fingers hovered just above the silk, but she did not touch it. Her gaze lingered on the delicate embroidery before lowering again.
"It would only embarrass him," she whispered softly.
With careful hands, she closed the lid gently. As though she were putting away something she had never truly been meant to hold.