(Sendai — 2055, Early Morning)
The sea was calm for once.
Waves brushed the dock like they were afraid to wake the world.
Inside Harbor Noodles, sunlight leaked through the blinds, painting thin stripes across the counter.
Teo was fixing the same hinge he'd already repaired three times.
Kaiya watched him from the stove, chin in hand, pretending not to stare.
"You realize," she said, "at this point that door's more screws than wood."
He didn't look up. "Then it's reliable."
She smiled. "You and your loyalty to broken things."
"Maybe I just like keeping what works."
She turned back to the pot, biting back a grin.
The broth was different today — sweeter, quieter.
Scene — "The Taste Test"
She set two bowls down, steam curling like memory.
"Try this."
He obeyed. One sip, then silence.
"Too much?" she asked.
He shook his head. "Different."
"Good different?"
"Feels new," he said.
Kaiya leaned on the counter. "Maybe it's supposed to."
He didn't notice how her hands trembled slightly, or how she kept glancing toward the window — the kind of nervous energy that didn't belong to her.
"Teo," she said finally.
He looked up.
She hesitated, then laughed once, awkward and small.
"I think…" She exhaled. "We're going to need a bigger table."
It took him a second. Then his eyes widened, the understanding slow but steady.
"Really?" he said.
"Yeah."
Neither moved for a long while. The shop hummed around them — the fridge, the sea, the clock — everything suddenly sharper, alive.
He sat back, hands on his knees, breath leaving him like a quiet prayer.
Then, softly, "Guess I'll have to fix the crib too."
Kaiya laughed, relief spilling through her like sunlight.
"You're skipping steps, carpenter."
"I plan ahead."
She crossed the room, resting her forehead against his shoulder.
For once, he didn't flinch from warmth.
"Home just got louder," she said.
"Good," he murmured. "I was getting used to noise."
Scene — "Outside"
Hours later, the shop was closed.
They sat outside on the pier with paper cups of broth, watching the sky burn gold.
Kaiya leaned her head against him.
"Do you ever think about what kind of world it'll be?"
Teo took a long breath. "If it's anything like this one, maybe we did alright."
She smiled. "You think they'll stay here too?"
He looked toward the horizon — the stretch of coast curving into light.
"Maybe. Maybe they'll find their own rhythm."
Kaiya nodded. "As long as they remember warmth."
He turned to her. "They will."
Final Image
The wind rose, carrying the scent of broth and sea salt across the docks.
Inside the shop, the sign flickered softly — OPEN LATE. DRIVE SAFE.
In a few years, a small boy would learn to fall asleep to that sound.
And one day, long after, the same boy would stand beside a white car overlooking the same sea,
chasing a rhythm of his own.
Because warmth — once found — doesn't end.
It just changes form.
[END — The Distance Between Worlds : Epilogue]