It worked because they both knew the rules. Rule one: no sleeping over. Rule two: no introducing to friends. Rule three: if someone catches feelings, you end it immediately. Clean, efficient, modern.

She didn’t answer at first. Then, softly: “My mom’s in the hospital. She collapsed this morning.”

They met every other Thursday, like clockwork. Rina would text him a simple pineapple emoji, which meant her place was free, and Akira would reply with a thumbs-up. She’d leave the key under the third potted plant, and he’d let himself in after his last client meeting. No words wasted. No expectations.

He sat beside her. Didn’t reach for her like he usually did. Instead, he pulled the blanket off the back of the sofa and draped it over her shoulders. Then he made tea—something he’d never done in her kitchen. He found the chamomile in the back of the cupboard, boiled water, and tried not to think about how domestic it felt.