Twilight Musings and an Unexpected Welcome

As dusk settled, the literary club’s meeting room gradually fell silent, the setting sun pouring through the window to cast a faint, golden sheen upon the floor.

Outside the window, the fresh, emerald leaves of a ginkgo tree mirrored the twilight sky, poised as if awaiting their cue.

Himura Rin was the sole occupant of the room, her slender figure at the window seat dissolving into the interplay of light and shadow. She held Snow Lantern in her hands, her fingertips delicately tracing the words on its cover, her gaze vacant, searching for something, yet finding nothing at all.

Her indoor shoes rested on the floor, her slender feet unconsciously swaying with a soft motion. Enveloped by delicate black stockings, her calves found no solid purchase. Like a solitary soul adrift, unable to find a sanctuary, she merely drifted within this corner.

The tender leaves outside the window shimmered, almost blinding, yet she felt a chill.

Then, “click.”

The door opened.

Fujita Misaki poked her head in, her face bearing its usual smile. She first surveyed the meeting room, confirming that Rin was alone, and remarked with a hint of regret, “I didn’t get your call. I thought you and that junior were getting along really well. What a pity, has he already left?”

Even before the mixer began, she had noticed Genji’s intense focus on his book, a concentration that was truly astounding. Two freshmen and an upperclassman had intentionally sat beside him, yet this junior showed no reaction whatsoever, remaining utterly engrossed in his book from beginning to end.

Fujita Misaki had only ever encountered such unwavering focus amidst a lively environment once before. The first instance was the junior before her now, Himura Rin. However, the two were entirely distinct.

Confronted by her vice-president, Himura Rin displayed little deference, merely pushing her book aside and coolly shutting down the software on her computer.

“If you’re not going to the mixer, what about dinner?” Fujita asked, exhibiting the concern of a senior.

Himura Rin’s indifferent voice replied, “I have no appetite.”

Fujita Misaki sighed, then stepped inside and pulled up a chair to sit.

“Rin-chan, you can’t go on like this, you know.”

Himura Rin lowered her head and took a sip from her thermos; the cup’s rim was somewhat faded, clearly having seen long use.

She stated blandly, “I’m used to it.”

It wasn’t feigned delicacy, nor had Genji’s presence robbed her of her appetite; rather, she had genuinely grown tired of eating cafeteria food for an entire year. She couldn’t cook, and there was no one to prepare delicious meals for her.

Gazing at the thermos, a rare flicker of emotion surfaced in Himura Rin’s eyes. It was like a gust of wind sweeping through the window, a brief tremor, then gone.

Fujita tilted her head. The setting sun’s light streamed in through the window, falling behind Himura Rin, leaving only the blue glow of the screen to illuminate her pale, small face.

“What happened between you and that junior?” she suddenly demanded.

Himura Rin’s hand paused, then she returned the thermos to its place, her expression serene and unblemished. “I don’t understand what you’re talking about, Senpai.”

Fujita leaned closer. “Really now?~”

She narrowed her eyes, as if trying to discern something from Himura Rin’s face. “You’re acting strange today, not like yourself at all.”

Himura Rin merely glanced at her, her thoughts solely on Genji’s short story. Those words felt light and airy, much like the tender leaves outside the window, playfully tickling and warm.

She couldn’t comprehend it. Writers were never short of solitary souls, yet his story, inexplicably, felt like spring itself, with scattered warm light drifting through it. It was utterly unreasonable. Especially the ending—how could anyone so brazenly display their own happiness?

Himura Rin’s small lips trembled slightly, then pressed together, the sliver of jealousy in her heart already neatly tucked away.

‘Hmph, perhaps he had merely plagiarized an essay from somewhere. She would only know his true skill once he brought it to her again.’

‘What was he doing now? Was he diligently revising?’

Fujita Misaki felt a peculiar sense of wonder, a strange curiosity about this junior whom she simply couldn’t leave alone. When had Rin ever displayed such complex emotions before? And she seemed quite angry.

While Himura Rin was lost in her musings, Fujita Misaki seized the opportunity to sneak a glance at the computer screen. She knew Rin had been preparing a new book, but it didn’t seem to be progressing smoothly. A strong curiosity compelled her, but the document was already closed; only the filename was visible.

[“Fragments”]

The apartment door swung open, revealing a sky behind her that had completely darkened.

It was one o’clock in the morning, and with tomorrow being the weekend, she had finally concluded all her work, looking forward to a well-deserved rest.

Sato Chinatsu shuffled inside, the hem of her gown sweeping the floor as she trailed a weary silhouette. One hand held her high heels, the other massaged her temple; the several glasses of wine from the banquet still swirled in her stomach, and after an entire evening of conversation, she hadn’t even touched a piece of bread.

There had been quite a few people to entertain—acquaintances and strangers alike approaching to introduce themselves—a lifestyle that demanded considerable energy.

‘She wondered if there was anything in the refrigerator to fill her stomach, or perhaps she would just boil some dumplings.’

Upon glancing up, she noticed the living room light was on, and a flicker of bewilderment crossed Sato Chinatsu’s eyes.

During her cohabitation with Genji, this was the first time she had returned home so late. The sensation of the house being lit at such an hour felt somewhat peculiar, stirring a faint ripple in Sato’s heart. Normally, only a cold, dark space greeted her.

Placing her high heels on the shoe rack, she lifted the hem of her gown and quietly made her way towards the living room. She wanted to see what Genji was doing. If it was something detrimental or inconvenient to her, she would certainly have to scold him properly. Teenage boys were just like that; left unsupervised for a few days, they would inevitably get carried away.

She narrowed her eyes, peering into the living room as stealthily as a thief in her own home.

Genji, draped in a loose-fitting jacket, was diligently writing at the table, his pen scratching vigorously across the paper, so absorbed that he hadn’t even heard her open the door.

On the adjacent dining table sat a dinner, covered with plastic wrap.

Sato Chinatsu furrowed her brow. ‘She had clearly sent a message saying she wouldn’t be back for dinner; had he not seen it, or what?’

She pulled out her phone and glanced at it. After sending that message, she hadn’t checked it again, and Genji hadn’t replied. ‘Could he genuinely have missed it? Yet, it was clearly marked as “read” on her screen.’

“Genji.”

It was the first time she had called him by his given name, her voice still laced with the scent of alcohol.

Genji jolted abruptly, nearly sending the pen flying from his hand. His gaze cleared from the haze of concentration, and upon recognizing her, Genji immediately rose to his feet, a smile gracing his lips. His jacket slipped down to his elbows, revealing the thin shirt he wore underneath.

“You’re back.”

Sato Chinatsu had initially intended to ask what he was doing and why he wasn’t asleep, but upon hearing his words, she suddenly froze in place.

It had been a long time since she had heard those words.

She stared at Genji, at the young man’s earnest face, and the papers still spread across the table. The neatly packaged dinner beside him waited quietly, like an awkward, small gift.

Her throat moved, and after a long moment, she managed to squeeze out, “Didn’t I say I wouldn’t be back for dinner?”

Genji offered his familiar, youthful smile. “I saw it. I just worried you might be hungry when you returned, so I prepared a meal. Besides, I wasn’t in a hurry to sleep anyway.”

Sato Chinatsu remained silent, her gaze falling upon the plastic wrap, her mind replaying the clinking glasses and empty stomach from the banquet. Suddenly, she felt a slight urge to laugh. ‘Was this guy truly brainless, or just excessively idle?’

It was like the wind blowing in from the window—cool, yet holding a nascent warmth now that spring had arrived.

She let out a soft huff. “Do as you please. I’m hungry.”

Genji paused for a moment, then bustled towards the kitchen. “Alright, I’ll warm it up. Please wait a moment.”

‘This was his benefactor, after all; he couldn’t afford to be negligent. His ability to immerse himself in his creative work was entirely thanks to Professor Sato’s consideration.’

Genji hadn’t even noticed that Sato Chinatsu was wearing a gown today, her face adorned with light makeup; it was only upon entering the kitchen that he caught a waft of an unfamiliar fragrance.

Sato Chinatsu settled onto the sofa, staring at the ceiling, her slender legs crossed, the ruffles of her gown fanning out and cascading to the base of the couch. The living room light made her dizzy, so she turned her head to look at the busy figure in the kitchen, her hair falling away to reveal the delicate curve of her ear.

The emotions stirring within her were extraordinarily complex.