The Shade of Another

Hana walked home that night beneath a canopy of stars, her breath curling into the cold air like smoke. She pulled her scarf tighter around her neck, her thoughts lingering on Yuki.

Yuki.

There was something about her—something quiet yet intense, like the stillness before a storm. Hana hadn't planned to ask her for coffee after the exhibition, but there was something in the way Yuki had stood there,half-hidden in the shadows, that tugged at her.

A vulnerability, maybe, or a reluctance to be seen.

But more than that, there was Yuki’s art.

Hana couldn’t forget the painting of the lone tree. It had stayed with her, etched into her mind like a memory she couldn’t quite place. She had seen countless works at the gallery that night—some bold, some abstract, some intricate in their details–but none of them had moved her the way Yuki’s had.

The tree was barren yet defiant, its branches stretched upward as if reaching for something just out of reach. It resonated with Hana in a way that felt deeply personal, though she couldn’t explain why.

Resilience, she had told Yuki that night. And it was true. But there was something else there too, something she hadn’t said.

Loneliness.

Hana’s apartment was small but cozy, filled with shelves of books and scattered papers. Her work as a freelance editor often consumed her days,leaving little time for anything else. She loved it, though –loved the feel of words passing through her hands, shaping them, refining them.

But lately, she’d felt restless.

She brewed a cup of tea and settled into the armchair by the window, gazing out at the city lights. Her laptop sat open on the table beside her, a manuscript waiting for her attention, but she couldn’t focus. Her mind kept drifting back to Yuki–the way her hands moved so effortlessly across the page at the botanical gardens, the way her eyes lit up when she talked about patterns in the dirt

There was a softness to Yuki, but also a depth –a well of emotion that Hana could only guess at. she wanted to know more about understanding the stories behind her art.

Hannah reached for her phone, Her fingers hesitating over the screen.She didn't want to come on too strong, didn't want to scare Yuki away. But there was something about her that made Hana feel... hopeful.

She sent a quick message: ''I had a wonderful time today. Thank you for sharing your work with me."

The response came faster than she expected:''Me too. Thank you for inviting me."

Hana smiled, her heart lifting.

The next few weeks passed in a blur of manuscript and deadlines, but Hana always found time to reach out to Yuki. They often texted –little snippets of their days, thoughts about art, and random observations.

Hana learned that Yuki loved cats, hated loud noises, and often stayed up late sketching when she couldn’t sleep. Yuki, in turn, asked about Hana’s work, her favorite books, and the small rituals that kept her grounded.

The café was warm and inviting, with the scent of freshly brewed tea wafting through the air. Hana arrived early, her nerves keeping her from sitting still. She fidgeted with her scarf, glancing out the window at the park’s bare trees.

When Yuki walked in, she hesitated at the doorway, scanning the room before spotting Hana. She gave a small wave, her shoulders slightly hunched as if to make herself smaller. She wore a soft, oversized sweater, her hair slightly damp from the rain.

Hana stood to greet her, offering a warm smile. “Hey, glad you made it.”

“Hi,” Yuki said softly, her voice barely audible over the chatter of the café. She shifted her sketchbook under her arm and looked down for a moment before meeting Hana’s gaze. “I hope I’m not late.”

“Not at all,” Hana replied, gesturing to the seat across from her. “I got here early.”

As they talked, Yuki often glanced away when speaking, her fingers nervously tracing the edge of her teacup. She answered Hana’s questions thoughtfully, though her words came in quiet, measured tones.

At one point, Yuki opened her sketchbook, hesitating briefly before sliding it across the table. “These are… some of the things I’ve been working on,” she said, her voice soft.

Hana gently turned the pages, marveling at the delicate drawings of trees—some reaching upward like the one from the gallery, others twisted and gnarled.

“These are beautiful,” Hana said, her fingers lightly grazing the page. “You have such a way of capturing emotion in your art.”

Yuki’s cheeks flushed, and she ducked her head. “Thank you,” she murmured. “It’s easier to draw than to… talk about things.”

Hana nodded, sensing the effort it took for Yuki to share this part of herself.

As they finished their tea, Hana offered, “Can I walk you home?”

Yuki hesitated, her gaze dropping to her hands. “You don’t have to…”

“I’d like to,” Hana said gently.

Yuki looked up, her lips curving into a small, tentative smile. “Okay.”

They walked side by side, the rain now a gentle mist. Yuki stayed close to the edge of the sidewalk, her steps light and careful. The silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable; it felt full, as though their unspoken thoughts were carried on the wind.

When they reached Yuki’s building, she paused at the entrance, clutching her sketchbook to her chest. “Thank you… for today,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Anytime,” Hana replied, her tone soft.

Yuki hesitated, her cheeks turning pink, before stepping closer. She lifted herself slightly on her toes and brushed a light, fleeting kiss to Hana’s cheek, her movements quick and bashful.

Before Hana could respond, Yuki ducked her head and hurried inside, leaving Hana standing beneath the soft glow of the streetlamp.

Hana touched her cheek, a smile spreading across her lips.

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