Dinner unfolded beneath soft lantern light, warmth spreading through the wooden villa like an old melody. Sakura moved effortlessly around the kitchen, refilling bowls, fussing over small details. Reno sat comfortably at the head of the table, posture relaxed but eyes always observant. For the first time in years, Eadlyn felt what he always imagined home should feel like—steady, warm, untouched by the hollowness that followed him from the UK.
"This food…" Eadlyn said between bites, "…is dangerous. I might never want to leave the table."
Sakura chuckled. "Eat well, Ead. You're too thin. London food must have been terrible."
"It wasn't," he said, smiling, "but this feels like an upgrade."
Reno placed down his chopsticks gently. "How was your first full day here? Settled in?"
"Almost," Eadlyn replied. "Actually… I wanted to ask. Is it still possible to join a high school now? The term already started."
Sakura and Reno exchanged a brief look—soft, confident, reassuring.
"Of course it's possible," Reno said. "Leave that part to us. If everything goes smoothly, two days at most. You'll start fresh."
Relief washed through him. For all his aloofness, he truly wanted this change—wanted a chance to understand people, relationships, maybe even love in a way that didn't feel disposable.
Sakura placed a map on the table, neatly folded. "Until then, explore the neighborhood. Places you'll need, spots worth visiting, shortcuts… all here. And don't hesitate to ask Saya if you need something."
Her name sparked a small flutter in his chest—not romantic, just aware. He still remembered her steady gaze at the door, the calm assurance she carried, and how easily she blended into the house's atmosphere without ever stepping inside.
After dinner, they shifted to the veranda. Reno poured tea, steam curling upward like faint stories rising from the past.
"You know," Reno began, voice thoughtful, "love back in our days wasn't like your generation's. We fought, we argued, but we grew together. People now… run too quickly."
Eadlyn listened quietly. He'd seen enough breakups and hollow relationships among his peers—one-sided crushes turned bitter, friendships ruined over misunderstandings, confessions followed by ghosting. Love felt fragile in the world he'd known.
"Your grandmother and I," Reno continued, "weren't perfect when we met. We had different dreams, different paths. But we learned to carry each other. That's what made us endure."
Sakura nudged him playfully. "Why are you lecturing him already?"
Reno smiled. "Because he's going to high school in Japan. And high school here isn't just studies. It's friendships, rivalries, feelings… all intense."
The conversation drifted between nostalgia and laughter, the kind that felt like stories passed down through generations. It made Eadlyn realize something: love wasn't a dramatic spark. It was endurance. It was showing up, again and again.
Later, upstairs in his room, he unpacked slowly. Books, clothes, scribbled notes—pieces of the life he had left behind. As he arranged them, he thought about Saya again. Her maturity. Her quiet grace. The way she made him instinctively aware of himself.
Not infatuation—something else.
A desire to grow.
The next morning arrived with Sakura's gentle knock. Breakfast was laid out beautifully—tamagoyaki, miso soup, and fruit placed like art.
"You're spoiling me," he said.
"That's the job of grandparents," she winked.
When he stepped outside with the map in hand, he paused. In the neighboring garden, Saya was watering flowers, her movements calm, deliberate. She looked up, meeting his gaze with a small, reserved smile.
"Heading out?" she asked.
"Yeah… exploring the city."
A moment of hesitation, then she offered, "If you'd like… I can guide you. I know the area well."
He nodded. "I'd like that, Saya."
And as they stepped onto the sunlit path, Eadlyn felt it—that subtle shift inside, the quiet beginning of something that would shape the entire journey ahead.