The Tokyo branch of Valerie Company hummed with a rhythm Sara Shiraishi had grown accustomed to in her short time there. Phones rang in intervals, keyboards clattered in syncopated beats, and the soft murmur of conversations ebbed and flowed through the open floor plan. Amid this controlled chaos, Sara worked with a quiet focus that stood out among her colleagues.
She sat at her desk, her slender fingers flying over the keyboard as she finalized a marketing report. The screen glowed with vibrant charts and data points she had meticulously compiled. Her workstation was a mix of creativity and clutter—post-it notes adorned with scribbles about deadlines and ideas, a half-finished cup of coffee, and a small potted succulent she watered every Monday.

“Sara-chan,” a voice broke through her concentration. It was Nakamura-san, one of her senior colleagues, standing with a thick file in his hands. He smiled, though the weight of the file seemed mirrored in his gaze. “I need this report finalized by noon. Can I count on you?”
Sara straightened, flashing a polite yet determined smile. “Of course, Nakamura-san. I’ll get on it right away.”

As soon as Nakamura turned away, another senior, Takahashi-san, appeared beside her. He was holding a laptop, his expression apologetic. “Sara, I know you’re busy, but could you rework the slides for tomorrow’s client presentation? Your designs are... well, let’s just say no one else’s come close.”

“Absolutely,” Sara replied, her voice steady though her heart sank at the growing list of tasks.
By the time lunch rolled around, her desk looked more like a battlefield than a workspace. Yet, Sara’s resolve never wavered. She had earned her seniors’ trust through sheer effort and creativity, even if it meant working twice as hard as others.

She enjoyed the challenges her job presented, but deep down, she couldn’t ignore the nagging exhaustion creeping in from constantly proving herself.
As she tidied her desk before heading out, a fleeting thought crossed her mind—a familiar voice, low and warm, from her recent phone calls with Daichi. A small smile tugged at her lips as she grabbed her bag and made her way to the restaurant where Yuri was waiting.

The restaurant was a quaint, bustling spot nestled in a side street of Shinjuku, filled with the aroma of sizzling dishes and the chatter of lunchtime patrons. Sara spotted Yuri at a table by the window, waving her over.

“Finally,” Yuri teased as Sara slid into the seat opposite her. “I was beginning to think you’d stand me up for your mysterious Daichi-san.”
Sara rolled her eyes, but the hint of a blush betrayed her. “Don’t start.”

“Oh, I’m just getting started,” Yuri quipped, resting her chin on her hand as she watched Sara with a mischievous grin. “You’ve been talking about him nonstop lately. What gives?”
“He’s just someone I’ve been talking to,” Sara said, shrugging as she unfolded her napkin. “It’s not a big deal.”
“Not a big deal?” Yuri leaned in, her voice dropping conspiratorially. “You’ve been smiling at your phone more than usual, and I know you. That only happens when there’s a guy involved.”

Sara laughed, shaking her head. “It’s not like that. He’s... interesting. Insightful. And maybe a little mysterious. But we’re just talking. That’s all.”
Yuri arched an eyebrow. “Interesting, insightful, mysterious. You’re basically describing a romantic hero from one of your novels.”

“Hardly,” Sara countered, though the blush deepened. “I don’t even know what he looks like. For all I know, he could be forty-five with a comb-over.”

Yuri burst out laughing, drawing a few curious glances from nearby tables. “You’re terrible at this. What’s the point of talking to someone if you don’t know anything about them?”
“It’s not about appearances,” Sara said defensively. “It’s about connection. And besides, he’s been... kind. He listens, and he doesn’t judge.”

“Okay, okay,” Yuri said, holding up her hands in mock surrender. “But don’t let your mystery man make you forget about your best friend, alright?”
Sara smiled, her expression softening. “As if I could ever forget you.”

They ordered their food, the playful atmosphere settling into something quieter as they ate. Yuri, ever perceptive, noticed the way Sara’s gaze grew distant as she poked at her meal.

“How’s Aunt Suzume doing?” Yuri asked gently, her tone careful.
Sara hesitated, her fork pausing mid-air. “She’s... stable, I guess. The rehab center says she’s making progress, but it’s slow. Really slow.”

Yuri nodded, her expression sympathetic. “It’s been, what, two years now?”

“Almost three,” Sara said quietly. “After the divorce, everything just fell apart. Mom couldn’t handle it. Finding out about Dad’s affair—and that he had twins with Gumi-san—it broke her.”
Yuri leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. “Will you ever meet the twins?”

“No,” Sara admitted. “Mahira and Izumi are adults now, but... it’s too weird. They’re my half-siblings, but I don’t know how to feel about them. It’s not their fault, but I can’t just pretend everything’s fine.”

“And your dad?” Yuri prompted.
Sara sighed, her shoulders slumping. “He tries. He pays for most of Mom’s rehab and even sends me some money for my expenses. But it’s like... he’s trying to buy forgiveness. It doesn’t fix anything.”

Yuri reached across the table, placing a hand over Sara’s. “You don’t have to have it all figured out, you know. This stuff is messy. It’s okay to feel stuck.”

Sara looked up, her hazel eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Thanks, Yuri. Sometimes I just feel like... I’m the only one holding everything together. Work, family—it’s all on me.”
“You’re not alone,” Yuri said firmly. “You’ve got me, and you’ve got people who care about you. And hey, maybe even Daichi-san.”
That earned a soft laugh from Sara, the tension easing slightly. “You’re impossible.”
“And you’re strong,” Yuri replied. “Don’t forget that.”

Soon they finished their lunch. Sara felt a bit lighter. The weight of her responsibilities hadn’t disappeared, but sharing the burden with Yuri reminded her that she didn’t have to carry it alone.

•••

The late afternoon sun cast long shadows over Tokyo’s bustling streets as Sara Shiraishi made her way home. The familiar hum of city life—the distant rumble of trains, chatter of passersby, and occasional chirp of traffic signals—was oddly comforting. Yet, her thoughts lingered on the conversation with Yuri.

Her phone buzzed in her hand, pulling her from her musings. The screen displayed an unidentified number. Frowning slightly, she answered, her tone calm and professional.
“Shiraishi Sara speaking. Who’s calling?”

A moment of hesitation followed before a deep male voice replied, uncertain yet firm. “Is this Shiraishi Sara’s number?”
Sara straightened instinctively, her professional demeanor kicking in. “Yes, this is she. May I ask who’s speaking?”

“This is... Gumi Mahira.” The name landed heavily between them, a silent revelation neither party could fully ignore. He continued awkwardly, “I suppose you’ve heard of me.”

Her mind raced. She had, of course. Mahira, one of her father’s children from his affair, her half-sibling. But this wasn’t the time for personal revelations. She kept her tone neutral, almost clinical. “Yes, I’ve heard of you.”
There was another pause, as if he were measuring his words. “I’m calling to let you know about... the passing of our aunt, Shiraishi Riko. The funeral service will be held tomorrow evening at 6 PM.” He rattled off the address in a monotone voice.

Sara felt a strange mix of emotions swirl within her—awkwardness, curiosity, and a distant pang of sadness. She took a breath, choosing her words carefully. “I see. Thank you for letting me know. I’ll keep it in mind.”
Mahira hesitated, the discomfort evident in the brief silence that followed. “Right. Well, that’s all I wanted to say.”

“Understood,” Sara replied smoothly, her tone neither inviting nor dismissive. “Thank you for reaching out.”
Mahira muttered a terse goodbye and hung up, leaving Sara staring at her phone.

By the time she reached her small, meticulously kept apartment, the weight of the call settled on her. She set her bag down, leaning against the door as her thoughts spiraled.

Aunt Riko. The woman was a stranger to her, just as Mahira was, and yet this death—this connection—felt too close for comfort. Why now? Why reach out after all this time?

She walked to her desk, flipping through her planner to find tomorrow’s schedule. The idea of attending the funeral, of facing a part of her father’s life she had actively avoided, felt daunting. But a small voice in the back of her mind whispered that perhaps this was a chance to understand the tangled mess of her family.
Sitting down with a sigh, she stared at the address Mahira had given her, the uncertainty looming large.