Toru pushed the café door open, the familiar jingle of the bell marking her exit. The warmth of the late afternoon sun hit her face as she stepped onto the sidewalk, and she let out a breath of relief. It wasn’t bad—today had been good—but her chest still carried the faint echoes of those little spikes of anxiety that had come and gone throughout the day.
The drink had been a hit.
Customers were curious, asking questions like, “What’s in it?” and “Did you come up with this?” Each interaction had been a quick thrill, her heart speeding up just a little with every question. She’d smiled, answered, and watched people’s reactions carefully, worried that someone might dislike it.
They didn’t.
Not a single complaint. Still, she could feel the emotional wear of it as she walked to her Bronco, she pulled out her key unlocked it, opened the door, and slid into the seat, letting her bag fall to the passenger side. She just sat there for a moment, hands on the wheel, eyes focused on the dashboard as the remnants of the day settled in.
Her heart did a tiny jump again—a flutter of nerves that she couldn’t pin down.
“What is this feeling?” she muttered, adjusting her lap belt into place. She sat back and exhaled, slow and intentional. “It’s fine. I’m fine.”
Maybe it was just leftover jitters, she reasoned. After all, she’d spent the whole day low-key on edge—those little moments of self-doubt trickling in every time someone tried the special drink. It wasn’t anything catastrophic, but it was there. The anxiety.
The worry.
And now that she was done for the day, maybe it was all just lingering like static in her system.
She turned the key in the ignition, and the Bronco rumbled to life.
Toru gripped the wheel a little tighter and spoke aloud to herself.
“You did it. Seriously, good job today.” Her voice was soft but firm, as if talking to a close friend. “You made that drink. You put yourself out there, and people liked it. No, scratch that—people loved it. And nobody got sick, so there’s another win.”
She cracked a smile, trying to nudge herself out of the unease. “You’re being ridiculous, Toru. This is just intrusive thoughts… exhaustion, maybe. Nothing more.”
She paused and tilted her head against the seat. “I mean, I took care of myself today. I really did. I had coffee at home and at work—less espresso than usual because I didn’t want to overstimulate myself. I drank plenty of water, too.” She counted it off on her fingers as if proving her point. “And I ate. Not a lot, but enough. And I even took a walk during my break.”
Her mind wandered back to that short walk around the block—ten minutes of movement, air, and quiet. It had helped clear her head, giving her a small reset between the morning rush and the mid-morning crowd. She needed it.
“And the best part?” She continued, shaking her head slightly with a smile. “I actually got to talk to people today. Like, really talk. Not just the regular ‘How are you?’ or ‘Do you want room for cream?’ kind of stuff. People asked about the drink, about what went into it, and I got to tell them. I got to share something I made. That’s… that’s huge.”
She swallowed, feeling the weight of her own words settle in her chest.
“It’s a blessing, you know? Having this job, these people. I love everybody there. Kai, Julie, Hana… all of them—they’re so supportive. And I had my drink on the board today. My drink.”
Her voice faltered for just a second as another wave of anxiety tried to creep up. She caught herself, shook her head again, and whispered firmly, “No. There’s nothing to be nervous of right now.”
She lingered there a moment longer, letting her words sink in.
She stared through the windshield, taking in the familiar neighborhood and the slow-moving traffic beyond. “This isn’t something medicine can completely fix. Maybe it helps, sure. But I know what this is. I’m letting too many intrusive thoughts slide in under the radar. I need to catch those.”
“I need to be aware of what I’m thinking and why I’m feeling this way.”
“Hyper-awareness is a pain, but sometimes it’s the thing that keeps me healthy.”
Her voice softened as she loosened her hands.
“I’m proud of you, Toru. We did this. You did this. Today was a success, even if you’re tired now. It’s okay to be tired. It’s okay to feel this.”
The day had been long, and maybe the anxiety hadn’t completely disappeared, but she reminded herself again—out loud, because sometimes hearing it helped— “Today was a good day. I’m so lucky for that.”
The east side of town wasn’t exactly glamorous—cracked sidewalks, graffiti-tagged walls, and random piles of trash were the norm. But nestled within a small business section of the neighborhood was her unique apartment. It was most of the second floor in a brand-new mixed-use craftsman building. The ground floor housed a bakery and antique shop, with a 2,000-square-foot studio apartment above.
The building was a labor of love, designed and constructed by its owner, Mr. Fujioka. A local craftsman with an eye for detail and a heart set on revitalizing the area, Mr. Fujioka had originally built the studio apartment for himself after his divorce. The studio itself reflected his vision of spacious, open design with high ceilings, exposed wood beams, and an abundance of natural light streaming through oversized windows.This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.
During those years of construction, however, life had surprised him. He met someone special, fell in love, and eventually married again. When the apartment was finally completed, Mr. Fujioka and his wife decided to settle in a home elsewhere in town, leaving the beautiful studio vacant. It wasn’t long before Toru and her cousin Saori came into the picture, becoming the first tenants ever to live there. Mr. Fujioka knew the space was for them, even having said “he felt they were the right fit”. He had not been wrong and the place had slowly become their own over the past two years it was more than just an apartment—it was a dream.
The Bronco groaned to a stop in the alley (off street parking) and Toru let out a long sigh as she turned off the engine. It had been a long day of dealing with the constant weight of anxiety clinging to her. From the time she woke up to the moment she’d stepped into the café. Even now, her chest felt tight, her mind replaying every interaction, every glance now trying to tell her that they might have been judgmental.
She slung her bag over her shoulder and climbed the stairs to the apartment. Pushing open the door, Toru was greeted by the faint scent of incense and the comforting clutter of the apartment. The large kitchen dominated one side, its pristine counters littered with cooking gadgets, spices, and stray notebooks where Saori jotted down her thoughts. Three small steps led up to a platform where their beds sat, tucked under skylights that let in the beautiful bright sun.
Saori was lounging on the couch, her black hair spilling over the armrest like ink. She was Toru’s exact opposite in almost every way—effortlessly bold where Toru was shy, charismatic but selective in her social interactions, and an unapologetic recluse when the mood struck her. Saori, a year older than Toru, had spent most of her life in New York, building a life in the city that never sleeps. But after hearing from their grandmother about the challenges Toru had faced, she decided to make a change. When their grandmother passed away, Saori didn’t think twice about uprooting her life and moving to Tacoma to be with her cousin.
That was two years ago. Since then, Saori and Toru had settled into a rhythm, sharing the ups and downs of life in their studio apartment. Saori never regretted her decision—Toru was family, and for Saori, that had always been reason enough.
Saori didn’t have to work. She could have lived comfortably off her family’s wealth but had chosen instead to focus on her writing. Most days, she wandered the local neighborhoods and the downtown Tacoma waterfront district, scribbling ideas for her stories in leather-bound journals or tapping them into her tablet.
Saori wasn’t making a lot of money as a writer, but her niche in steamy romance novels had been gaining some traction online. While she wasn’t exactly rolling in royalties, her growing popularity in the genre was enough to keep her motivated—and occasionally embarrassed when Toru teased her about it.
The duo’s love for Japanese culture had fueled a shared passion between the cousins. Their nights were often filled with cooking experimental dishes, arguing over anime characters, or binge-reading manga. She even rode a sleek, customized sports bike—another expression of her personality. It was fast, dramatic, and impossible to ignore, just like her.
Saori looked up as Toru entered, her sharp eyes immediately scanning her cousin’s expression. “You survived,” she said with a grin, sitting up. “And let me guess—they loved your drinks because, duh, of course they did.”
Toru let out a weak laugh, dropping her bag by the door. “I don’t know about that.”
“Oh, please,” Saori said, swinging her legs off the couch and standing. “You make the best drinks. Everything you whip up here is amazing, so I’m sure everyone there was just like, ‘Wow, Toru, you’re a genius. Will you marry me?’” She mimed a dramatic bow, grinning.
Toru shook her head, her shoulders slumping as she sank onto the couch. “It wasn’t like that. I was so anxious the whole time. I kept thinking I was going to mess something up. Every order felt like this… huge test.”
Saori sat beside her and nudged her shoulder. “But you didn’t mess up, did you?”
“No,” Toru admitted softly.
“Exactly.” Saori leaned back, crossing her arms. “And I bet they all loved your drinks. You’re too picky about what you make to serve anything less than perfect. I’ve seen you redo a latte three times at home just because the foam didn’t look right.”
Toru chuckled, the tension in her chest loosening a little. “Maybe. But it still felt overwhelming, you know? Like everyone was watching, waiting for me to fail.”
Saori’s voice softened. “They weren’t, Toru… and I bet you didn’t even think about that till your drive home. You’ve got a gift. You just need to believe in it.”
Toru managed a small smile. “Thanks, and you’re right… I didn’t start hounding myself until I left.”
“I figured as much because it’s even I know your anxiety is too much to have allowed yourself to slip when you’re in the zone.”
“Oh, trust me. I had to talk myself off the ledge all day, and I felt like every time I talked to someone, I was breathing like some kind of monster.”
“Yeah, but again, I’m sure no one noticed it but you.”
“I know you’re probably right.”
“I’m always right what are you talking about? You’ve been wanting to do this forever and now you’re doing it successfully I might add… so knock it off.”
“Thanks.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” Saori said, standing and stretching. “You’ve been fancying up drinks for people all day, huh? How about whipping me up some fancy
food? I’m starving.”
Toru groaned. “Seriously?”
“Seriously.” Saori grinned, walking toward the kitchen. “I’ve even saved the next episode of our show. You can’t say no to that.”
Toru perked up despite her exhaustion. One of their favorite rituals was eating meals together while watching anime, sharing commentary, and arguing over their favorite characters. They discovered so many shows that way—sprawled out on the couch, bowls of steaming food in hand, losing track of time as one episode turned into three… or 12 (No second season)
“All right, fine,” Toru said, dragging herself off the couch. “But I’m keeping it simple. Don’t expect anything crazy.”
“Simple for you is gourmet for the rest of us mortals,” Saori called from the couch, already queuing up the episode.
Toru tied her hair back and got to work, chopping vegetables and heating the pan. As she cooked, the sounds of the apartment—Saori’s humming, the faint anime opening song, the sizzle of food—melded into a rhythm that felt safe and familiar.
By the time the food was ready, Toru felt a little lighter. She handed Saori a plate and settled onto the couch beside her, their usual cozy spot.
As the episode began, Toru leaned back, letting the warmth of the meal and her cousin’s company wash over her. For the first time all day, she felt like she could finally relax.
Saori
Saori is a striking woman with a unique, effortless style. She has shoulder-length, jet-black hair that she often wears in loose waves, framing her angular face. Her almond-shaped dark brown eyes are expressive, often glinting with mischief or focus, depending on her mood. She has a sharp, defined jawline and high cheekbones, giving her a polished appearance even when she’s lounging in sweats. Her complexion is smooth with a warm, sun-kissed undertone, hinting at her time spent outdoors in New York before her move.
Saori''s fashion sense leans toward casual sophistication; she’s often seen in oversized sweaters paired with fitted jeans or wide-leg trousers. She loves accessorizing with chunky silver jewelry and bold-framed glasses she wears while writing. Despite her laid-back wardrobe, there’s an unmistakable confidence in her demeanor that makes her stand out.