Reiji booked her again.
He told himself it was curiosity. Or maybe convenience. But as he sat across from Miko once more, watching her stir cream into her coffee with easy grace, he knew it wasn't that.
She made things feel simple. And real.
This time, they talked about music. Miko was into indie pop and old-school jazz, and she hummed softly when a Miles Davis track started playing in the café. Reiji confessed he didn't listen to much beyond classical piano—he used it to focus. She teased him gently, calling him an old man at heart.
"You probably read the newspaper with a cup of black coffee at 6 AM," she said.
He gave her a deadpan look. "Tea. Jasmine."
She laughed. It was the kind of laugh that made his chest ache in a good way.
Still, there was a wall. She never shared much about herself. He noticed the way her eyes flicked to the clock near the end of each booking. She was professional. Even when her smile lingered a little longer than it should have.
He wanted to ask her something real. Something that went beyond surface.
"Why do you do this?" he asked quietly.
She paused. For a second, her expression faltered.
"To pay for something important," she said.
He didn't press. But the answer sat heavy in his chest.
When their time was up, Miko stood, bowing politely. "Same time next week?"
Reiji hesitated before nodding. "Yeah."
He didn't care what excuse he had to come up with. He'd be back.