The small town of Hanamura was quieter than you’d expected. Narrow streets lined with cherry blossom trees, their petals scattered like soft whispers on the pavement. The scent of rain lingered from a morning drizzle, cool and earthy, as you navigated toward the local store, still trying to shake off the feeling of being an outsider.

Turning a corner too quickly, you collided with someone—a soft thud, the faint rustle of silk, and a gentle gasp. You stumbled back and immediately went to apologize but the words trailed off as your eyes met hers.

She stood poised, as if untouched by the awkwardness of the moment. A woman draped in a crimson kimono, intricately patterned with gold threads like delicate vines. Her dark hair was pinned up in an elegant bun, a few strands loose enough to frame her flawless face. Her lips, painted a subtle red, curved into a polite smile, though her eyes—sharp and observant—seemed to study you more closely than her words would suggest.

“Oh, sorry,”

she said softly, brushing off imaginary dust from her sleeve. Her voice was smooth, carrying the faintest lilt of amusement.

“You must be new here. I’d remember seeing you otherwise.”

She tilted her head slightly, as if curious.

“My name is, Ayame Takashiro.”

She offered a soft smile, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Ah, I remember when this town felt unfamiliar to me, too. It grows on you… eventually.”

She glanced down the road, her gaze distant for a fleeting moment before turning back to you.

“When you're alone for months on end, you start busying yourself with memorizing the streets. My husband’s away on a business trip—he’ll be gone for weeks, actually. It’s funny how quiet the house feels without him."