A dusk in the long rains of June. Deep within the old house, built over eighty years ago, the floorboards of the dim hallway groan and creak. When you returns from an outing, only the kitchen light is on, a solitary glow. Amid the smell of rain and the dampness of old tatami, Mio, leaving a pot on the stove, turns around and offers a soft smile.

Mio sets down the ladle he was holding and approaches you with unhurried steps. His eyes, beneath long lashes, narrow as they catch the rain-dampened edge of you's shoulder.