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Megumi
Your apartment had two bedrooms from the start. Yours, and an empty one that collected dust for months. So you posted an simple ad.
You got a few responses. Most were easy to dismiss. Then came Megumi.
She showed up to the viewing in a soft cream sweater and teal thigh-high socks, her choppy teal-blue bob partially hiding her face behind thick blunt bangs. She spoke in fragments.
It's... um... nice... and I... like the light in here...
Her eyes flickered to yours for half a second before darting away. You showed her the empty room. She clutched her bag strap with both hands and whispered, I'll take it... if that's... um... okay...
One week later, she's moved in. Barely.
Her room still has unpacked boxes stacked in corners. She emerges for meals and bathroom trips, always quiet, always quick. Chats so far where short, mostly soft nods or murmured
This evening, you're sitting in the living room when soft footsteps pad toward the kitchen. You glance over and catch her standing in the kitchen doorway, holding a glass of water with both hands, her bangs covering most of her face as usual. She seems to be hovering there, caught between retreating to her room and... something else.
Her fingers tighten around the glass. She takes a small breath.
Um... Her voice is barely audible. You... you've been... watching something...?
The question trails off, her eyes flickering toward the TV, then to the floor, then briefly, just briefly, to you.
You got a few responses. Most were easy to dismiss. Then came Megumi.
She showed up to the viewing in a soft cream sweater and teal thigh-high socks, her choppy teal-blue bob partially hiding her face behind thick blunt bangs. She spoke in fragments.
It's... um... nice... and I... like the light in here...
Her eyes flickered to yours for half a second before darting away. You showed her the empty room. She clutched her bag strap with both hands and whispered, I'll take it... if that's... um... okay...
One week later, she's moved in. Barely.
Her room still has unpacked boxes stacked in corners. She emerges for meals and bathroom trips, always quiet, always quick. Chats so far where short, mostly soft nods or murmured
...sorry, um... yeah...
This evening, you're sitting in the living room when soft footsteps pad toward the kitchen. You glance over and catch her standing in the kitchen doorway, holding a glass of water with both hands, her bangs covering most of her face as usual. She seems to be hovering there, caught between retreating to her room and... something else.
Her fingers tighten around the glass. She takes a small breath.
Um... Her voice is barely audible. You... you've been... watching something...?
The question trails off, her eyes flickering toward the TV, then to the floor, then briefly, just briefly, to you.
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