Day 03 - April 03, 2024
Heartbeat Behind the Silence
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The third day came with no parade, no big revelation—just the hum of fluorescent lights and the click-clack rhythm of keyboards that filled the animation office like a steady heartbeat. My third sunrise in this building, and already I was starting to feel like a ghost in a machine. Not quite invisible, but not someone you'd notice twice.
No assignments. No spotlight. Just tasks handed off by senior staff like breadcrumbs, leading me along this path I hoped would eventually turn into a career. I told myself it was normal—every beginner starts at the bottom. This was how it worked. You proved yourself through consistency, through grind, through patience. Three days in and not even a whisper of a project of my own. But no one expected otherwise. Not when the average waiting time was three years.
Still… it burned a little.
I rubbed the back of my neck, sore from hours hunched in front of my monitor, and exhaled a breath that felt like it had been trapped in my chest since morning.
I wasn't here for glory. I wasn't here for applause.
But maybe… just maybe, I was here for something else.
Someone else.
Fujimoto Airi.
I'd never believed in soulmates. But she made me doubt everything I thought I knew about the human heart. Something about her was different—was dangerous, in the best kind of way. And every day, I found myself caught in the gravity of her existence.
I glanced up, as if pulled by instinct, and there she was.
Her steps light but purposeful, gliding through the maze of desks like she didn't belong to this world. A wisp of perfume—soft, floral, fleeting—trailed behind her, as if spring itself followed wherever she walked. The overhead lights didn't just reflect off her hair. They danced across it, like they knew she was worth illuminating.
And when she smiled...
The entire office seemed to blur.
The phones ringing, the constant tap-tap-tapping of tired fingers, the hum of the air conditioning—it all faded. I couldn't hear anything but the rush of my own pulse.
Then—eye contact.
She looked at me.
Not through me. At me.
Time cracked in that moment. My breath caught, and the world narrowed until it was just her and me in a shared silence that felt sacred.
I didn't blink.
I couldn't.
If she were Medusa, I'd let myself turn to stone a thousand times over.
But then—
SMACK.
A sharp jolt to the back of my skull sent stars spinning through my vision.
"Back to earth, loverboy," came a too-cheerful voice behind me.
Tanaka Hiroshi. Of course.
He stood there grinning like a mischievous older brother, arms crossed, clearly proud of his sneak attack. Hiroshi was harmless, if a bit too loud for my taste. Always had a joke, always ready with a nudge when your head was somewhere it shouldn't be—like in the clouds, chasing impossible dreams with the company's most untouchable girl.
"Careful," he said, chuckling. "Stare too long and she'll charge rent."
I tried to laugh. Tried to play it off. But the sting wasn't from his teasing. It was from the moment that had just been stolen from me. I turned back toward the hallway, but she was gone. Just like that. Like a dream you wake up from too soon.
"She's something, huh?" Hiroshi added, nudging my shoulder. "But don't kid yourself, rookie. She's outta your league—and everyone knows it."
I wanted to argue.
But I didn't.
Because he wasn't wrong.
Fujimoto Airi was adored by everyone here. She was a mystery, a muse, a magnetic force. Every guy in the office had some kind of story about trying (and failing) to win her attention. But none of them had what I had.
A moment.
Maybe it was small. Maybe it meant nothing.
But it was mine.
I clung to it like a secret.
The rest of the day blurred—endless revisions, notes from senior animators, code to tweak, colors to correct. I barely had time to breathe, let alone daydream. The hours passed in a mechanical haze, until finally, the clock hit midnight.
We'd done it. Somehow, we'd made it through the day's tasks ahead of schedule. Hiroshi clapped me on the back again, this time with genuine approval.
"Not bad, rookie. You survived."
"I'll wear the scars with pride," I mumbled, stretching my aching limbs.
"You in for a drink?"
I hesitated. The idea was tempting, but I shook my head. "Not tonight. I think I left my soul somewhere between frame fifty-two and seventy."
Hiroshi laughed and waved me off.
I gathered my things, muscles screaming with each movement, and made my way to the exit—
And there she was.
Airi.
Still here.
She stood near the door, adjusting her bag strap, her expression unreadable but softer than usual. We locked eyes again, and this time, I dared to speak first.
"You're still working?" I asked, trying to sound casual.
"Yeah," she said, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "Overtime again. Lucky me, right?" She gave a tired but genuine smile.
Lucky me, indeed.
"I thought I was the only one still chained to a desk."
"Looks like we're in the same boat," she said, then paused. "Hey… you heading to the station?"
My heart stuttered. "Yeah."
"Wanna walk together?"
My brain short-circuited. I barely managed a nod.
The walk was awkward, in that strangely comforting way where silence didn't feel like failure. I kept stealing glances, wondering if she could hear how loud my heart was beating. I wanted to speak, to say something charming or funny—but all my words stayed stuck behind nerves.
When we reached the station, she stopped, looking suddenly nervous.
"Um…" she began, brushing invisible dust off her sleeve. "Are you free this weekend?"
I blinked. "W-what?"
"There's a park nearby. Cherry blossoms are blooming," she said quickly. "Maybe we could… walk around? If you're not busy, I mean."
If my heart had a self-destruct button, it would've exploded.
"Yes," I said before I even thought. "Yeah. I'd love that."
She smiled—no, she glowed.
And that was it.
Our first date.
At least, I hoped that's what it was.
—
That night, I walked her all the way home.
It felt like something out of a film—the quiet Tokyo streets, the glow of the moon, the faint rustling of wind through trees. Her silhouette shimmered beneath the streetlights like it didn't belong to this world. Her laughter, light and tired, echoed like music meant only for me.
She looked up at her apartment, then turned back to me. "Thanks for walking me."
"Of course," I said, voice low. "Anytime."
She smiled again—that same smile that had stopped my world just hours ago.
And then she was gone.
Up the stairs.
Out of sight.
But not out of mind.
I walked home alone under the same moonlight, but I didn't feel alone. Not really. My chest was full—too full, like I might burst from something I couldn't name.
But then—just before I reached my building—a strange chill passed through the air. Not cold in the ordinary sense. It was deeper, older. It whispered through me like something ancient brushing the edges of my soul.
I stopped.
No one was there.
No sound but the wind.
And yet, something had shifted.
I stood still, heart thudding—not with love, but with something else entirely.
Dread?
No. Something… watching.
But there was nothing. No proof. Only instinct.
I shook it off, dragged myself inside, and collapsed into bed.
And yet, even beneath the weight of sleep, I felt it.
A warmth from her.
A cold from something else.
Two tides, pulling me in opposite directions.
And for the first time, I wondered—
Was this the beginning of a love story?
Or something much, much stranger?