Time passed in still spirals.
Other days were warm—minuscule pleasures embroidered in the fabric of their day. Kaito waking her to miso soup. Haruka placing sticky notes within his lunchbox with rough doodles of tiny babies and sleeping cats. Even the illness had begun to be a familiar wave, something to breathe through instead of fear.
And then, naturally, there were days like today.
When all—every small thing—a felt too much.
The mountain of dishes in the sink. The prenatal appointment letter unopened. The reminder from the city office slipped into the mailbox to remind them to legally register their marriage. Their flat, too small for two, let alone three.
The weight of the future heavy and formless on top of them.
Haruka crouched on the balcony, knees to her chest. Cold metal railing bit into her back, but she made no move to adjust. A drizzle of rain had begun falling, but she made no move to notice that either.
In the kitchen, she heard Kaito humming off-key as he probably tried to mirror a cooking video.
She concealed her face in her hands and tried to temper the storm within her.
What are we doing?
Are we actually ready for this?
She hadn't told anyone anything. Not even Kaito. But there were nights, and she couldn't sleep—not because of the baby, but because she was afraid that she'd destroyed them. That in their attempt to escape the past, she'd pushed them into something they weren't prepared for.
The balcony door slid open behind her.
"Haruka?" Kaito's voice was soft, but alert. She could hear the slight edge in it—concern wrapped in warmth.
She didn't answer.
He stepped closer, crouching beside her. "Hey. What's going on?"
She shook her head. Her throat felt like it was closing up.
"I just… needed air."
"You're soaked."
"I know."
Kaito pulled off his hoodie and draped it over her shoulders. The warmth of it nearly undid her. Her lip trembled.
He didn't shove her. Merely sat beside her in quiet for a moment.
The drizzle turned into a light rain. But neither of them moved.
Finally, she almost whispered, "Do you ever think about if we made a mistake?"
Kaito looked over in surprise.
She rushed to explain. "Not. not about the baby. Or us being together. Just—everything. The timing. The apartment. How fast we moved. Getting married without anyone knowing. Hiding. Living on our own instead of. living."
Kaito sat there for a very long time.
"I think about it all the time," he said softly.
She was taken aback.
"But then I remember what my grandma used to say." He smiled faintly. "She used to say, 'It's not a mistake if you're still willing to grow through it.'"
Haruka looked at him.
"I'm scared," she admitted.
"Me too."
"Really?"
He emitted a short, desiccated laugh. "I Googled how to diaper change last night and had a mini panic attack."
She laughed a small, shaking laugh.
Kaito grasped her hand.
"I don't know what I'm doing," he conceded. "But I'm learning. With you. We didn't end up here because it was perfect. We ended up here because we kept choosing each other. Even when it was complicated. Even when it was scary."
Haruka sniffled. "What if love's not enough?"
"It isn't," he said to her. "Not by itself. But we're not just relying on love, are we?"
She tilted her head.
"We have effort. Patience. Stubbornness. Terrible budgeting skills—okay, that one's me mostly—but we're trying. We're trying together. That counts for something."
She leaned her head against his shoulder.
"I just want us to be okay."
Kaito turned his head to kiss the side of her damp hair.
"We will be. Even if the road curves. Even if we fall sometimes. We'll figure it out."
They stayed so, listening to the gentle beat of rain.
In the distance, a weak rumbling thundercloud growled by, but it didn't catch up with them.
Inside the warm house, their tiny rice cooker beeped to alert them that dinner was ready.
Later in the evening, after warm soup and soft music, Haruka was ironing baby onesies that she couldn't even remember having bought. They were predominantly hand-me-downs from the woman who lived next door. One still had lavender detergent's scent.
She looked over at Kaito, hunched over on the tatami mat, filling a second-hand planner with ideas that someone from his new company had provided for him.
He looked up at her.
"You look like you're plotting something," he said.
"I'm not," she smiled miserably. "Just. taking a mental snapshot."
"Of what?"
"This. Us. Now."
He nodded, then rolled onto his side.
"Do you think," he said slowly, "you'd want to move somewhere more roomy someday?"
She hesitated. "Like. outside this town?
No, I mean—just somewhere with… you know, real rooms. Perhaps a small garden for the child. More light. A washer that doesn't sound like it's about to keel over."
Haruka imagined it. For the first time, she didn't sense resistance. She sensed. possibility.
"Yeah," she said. "I'd like that."
They smiled at one another, gentle and full of subdued hope.
But just as she was going to lean over to turn out the light—
Her phone sprang to life on the counter.
A text.
From an unknown number.
"You can't hide forever. Come home before it's too late."
Haruka's breath caught up.
She remained there, her heart pounding in her ears.
She failed to notice that Kaito had shifted up on his elbows, his eyes fixed on her face.
"Haruka?" he whispered.
She didn't respond.
He rose and crossed over to her. Reading the message, his jaw clenched.
The silence extended.
And then—
A second message appeared on.
"He knows where you are."
Outside, the sound of a vehicle running on the street made them both glance up at the window.
A black car had pulled just across the street.
It didn't budge.