Emiko Fujiwara lived in a one-bedroom apartment that could best be described as… there.
Not ugly. Not cute. Just existing.
The walls were a soft off-white that she never bothered to repaint. Her couch was beige. Her curtains were beige. Even her bedsheets were beige. Sometimes she wondered if her entire life had been sponsored by the color beige.
Every morning followed the same script.
Her alarm went off at 5:45 a.m. sharp.
"Ugh…" Emiko groaned, blindly slapping her phone until the noise stopped. She lay there for exactly three more minutes, because that was the unspoken rule, before finally dragging herself out of bed.
She padded into the tiny kitchen, tied her hair into a messy low ponytail, and started cooking.
Rice. Eggs. Something quick. Something warm.
She ate standing up, scrolling through her phone, half-awake, half-alive.
*Another day of adulthood*, she thought tiredly. *Wow. Love that for me*.
By 6:40 a.m., she was showered, dressed, and staring at her reflection in the mirror.
Office outfit: neat blouse, fitted skirt, flats. Professional. Clean. Forgettable.
She sighed, grabbed her bag, locked her apartment, and stepped out into her quiet neighborhood.
The streets were already awake, vendors setting up, people rushing, buses honking impatiently. Emiko blended right in. Nothing special. Nothing dramatic.
She boarded the public bus, found a seat by the window, and rested her head against the glass as the city moved around her.
Life is normal, she told herself.
Painfully normal.
By the time she arrived at the insurance company building, she had her work smile on, soft, polite, practiced.
"Good morning!" she said as she stepped inside.
"Morning, Emiko!"
"Hey, you're early today!"
"How was your weekend?"
"Good," she replied easily. "Quiet."
She bowed slightly, smiled again, and walked toward her desk.
Everything felt routine.
Normal.
Until she saw him.
Haruto Ishikawa stood a few desks away, looking unfairly handsome for 8:02 a.m.
His sleeves were rolled up just enough to be illegal. His tie was slightly loose, like he'd tied it in a hurry. His hair, dark, neat, effortlessly perfect, caught the morning light in a way that made Emiko's heart do a small, embarrassing flip.
*Why does he look like that on a Monday*,she thought bitterly, dropping into her chair.
Around him hovered a small group of younger female coworkers.
Very close.
Very enthusiastic.
"Oh my gosh, Ishikawa-san," one of them giggled, leaning a little too near. "How are you still single?"
Another chimed in, "Right? I don't believe it. There has to be someone."
Haruto laughed awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck. "You're exaggerating."
"No, seriously," another said. "Are you seeing anyone right now?"
Emiko's fingers froze on her keyboard.
She pretended to focus on her screen, but her ears were burning.
*Wow. Okay. Cool. Love this episode of My Office Crush Gets Interviewed About His Love Life.*
"I'm really not," Haruto replied politely. "And you should focus on work."
"Aww, you're too nice," one of them pouted. "If you were my boyfriend, I'd brag about you everywhere."
Emiko clenched her jaw.
Excuse me???
She glanced up, just once.
And that was her mistake.
Haruto's eyes met hers instantly.
Like he'd been looking for her.
His expression softened immediately, the polite smile he wore for others turning warmer, gentler. Just for her.
"Good morning, Emiko-san," he said.
Her heart tripped over itself.
"G—good morning," she replied, bowing her head too fast, too stiff. "Uh—good morning."
She felt her cheeks heat up.
The women noticed.
Of course they noticed.
Their giggles faded. Their eyes flicked from Haruto… to Emiko.
Then came the looks.
Oh.
One of them tilted her head. "Emiko-san… you're still not married, right?"
Another added casually, "You're always so quiet. I thought you'd have settled down by now."
Emiko stiffened in her chair.
"I—well—" she started, unsure how to respond.
A third woman glanced pointedly at Haruto. "Some people really like staring, don't they?"
Emiko's face burned.
"I wasn't— I mean—"
Before she could finish, the office doors swung open.
"Good morning, everyone."
The boss.
Instant chaos.
"Good morning, sir!"
"Good morning!"
The group scattered immediately, retreating to their desks like nothing had happened.
Haruto gave Emiko one last glance, concerned, apologetic, before turning away.
Emiko slumped back in her chair, staring at her screen.
Her heart was racing. Her face was hot. Her mood?
Ruined.
Why does something this small hurt so much? she thought miserably.
Why does liking him feel like a crime?
She let out a quiet sigh and opened her work files.
Another normal day.
Another quiet heartbreak.
And she had no idea…
this was only the beginning.
........
The coffee machine area was already alive.
Which, unfortunately, meant the aunties had gathered.
Emiko stood right behind them, cup in hand, pretending she was invisible.
"…I'm telling you," one of the women said, shaking her head. "If a woman doesn't marry early, something is wrong."
"Exactly," another replied. "These days they say it's 'choice,' but we all know the truth."
"What truth?" a third voice joined in.
"They wait too long. Then the good men get taken. Then they complain."
Emiko stared very hard at the coffee machine like it might save her.
*I am not here. I am a ghost. I am steam.*
She unlocked her phone and started scrolling, trying to drown them out.
Then—
A wedding post popped up.
A girl she'd met at a social event.
Big dress. Big smile. Big caption about "forever."
Emiko froze.
She took a sip of coffee.
And immediately spat it back out.
"Marriage is overrated anyway," she blurted.
The aunties turned around slowly.
"…What did you say?" one of them asked.
Emiko laughed too fast.
"Ah—hot coffee," she said. "It attacked me."
They stared.
Then one shrugged. "Careful. Coffee burns."
"Yes," Emiko nodded aggressively. "Very dangerous."
They turned back to their conversation.
Emiko sighed and scrolled again.
*Okay. Everyone is married. It's fine. I'm fine.*
Swipe.
Beach photos.
Haruto.
Sun. Wind. Rolled sleeves. Bare forearms.
Her soul left her body.
"Oh no," she whispered.
She leaned closer to her phone like that would change anything.
*Why does he look like that?*
*Why does the beach look like it was built for him?*
*Why am I zooming in?*
She smiled without realizing it.
A tiny, very undignified noise escaped her mouth.
She wiped her lips quickly.
*Stop it. You are at work.*
Behind her—
"My niece is twenty-eight," one of the women said loudly. "Still single."
"Oh?" another replied. "That's dangerous age."
"Very dangerous. After thirty, men start asking questions."
"Like, 'Why is she still alone?'"
"Exactly."
Emiko's jaw tightened.
"She says she wants to enjoy life first," the woman scoffed.
"Enjoy what?" someone else laughed. "Loneliness?"
They all chuckled.
"And those quiet ones," another added, lowering her voice. "They pretend they're not interested, but they stare."
Emiko's stomach dropped.
"Like that Fujiwara girl," someone said.
Her name landed like a slap.
"The one in accounting?"
"Yes. Always alone. Always on her phone."
"Mmm," another hummed. "Those ones are usually desperate."
Emiko spat her coffee again.
This time, it was personal.
*Say it again. Say it louder. Let me hear you clearly.*
She took a step forward—
—and nearly screamed.
"Oh!"
She jumped back.
Haruto stood behind her, way too close, holding an empty cup.
"I'm sorry," he said quickly. "I didn't mean to scare you."
Her heart was trying to escape her chest.
"I—I thought—" she stopped herself.
*Did he hear that?*
Her eyes flicked nervously toward the women.
Haruto followed her gaze, then looked back at her.
His ears were red.
"I just came for coffee," he said, rubbing his neck awkwardly.
"Oh," Emiko replied weakly. "Right. Coffee."
They stood there.
Too close. Too quiet.
The aunties' voices faded into background noise.
"So… um," Haruto started. "There's a public holiday on Tuesday."
"Yes," she said too quickly. "I know that."
He smiled, small and unsure.
"I was thinking… maybe we could go out. Just for a bit. Outside of work."
Her brain blue-screened.
*Go out?*
*With him?*
*Outside work?*
"Oh," she said, pretending to think. "Tuesday is… a day."
*What are you saying?!*
"I'll check my schedule," she added, nodding like a serious adult.
"I'd like that," he said softly.
Her heart exploded.
Before she could respond—
"Emiko!"
A coworker rushed over holding files. "You forgot to drop these yesterday. I really need them."
"Oh! I'm so sorry," Emiko said, panicking. She turned to Haruto. "I'll text you. About Tuesday."
"That's fine," he replied, smiling.
She hurried away, face burning.
*Did he hear them talking about me?*
*Did he just ask me out?*
*Why does my life feel like an anime now?*
Behind her, Haruto stared at his untouched coffee.
His ears were still red.
Very red.
.....
Emiko slammed the door of her one-bedroom apartment and sighed.
The day had been *long.*
Her feet ached. Her brain was mush. And yet… somehow, it hadn't been long enough.
She kicked off her shoes and collapsed onto the bed, stretching out as much as the tiny mattress allowed.
Finally, she thought. Finally, I can rest.
Her eyes wandered to her phone lying on the bedside table.
*Oh no…*
She grabbed it and froze.
She hadn't texted Haruto about Tuesday.
Her chest started racing.
*Oh my god. How could I forget?*
She started typing a message, then paused.
…and then froze completely.
She didn't even have his number.
Her brain short-circuited.
*Stupid! Stupid! How are you this stupid?! You don't even have his number?!*
She ran her hands through her hair and groaned dramatically, pacing the tiny apartment.
Her fingers hovered over the phone again. Maybe… maybe she could ask someone else? But who?
No. Too risky.
She let out a long exasperated sigh.
*Fine. I'll just… cook something small. And go to bed. Maybe tomorrow I'll… figure it out.*
She shuffled to the kitchen and made herself a measly bowl of instant noodles, eating while scrolling through social media, occasionally sighing or muttering to herself.
---
The next morning, she was rudely awakened by a phone ringing.
*Ring. Ring.*
She groaned, flopped onto her side, and burrowed under the blanket.
*Ring. Ring.*
This time, she threw the blanket off and snatched the phone, glaring at it.
"Who even… ugh!" she muttered.
"Hello?"
"Emiko! Did you hear about…?"
Her mother's voice started, loud and unstoppable.
"Wait—what? Mom?!"
"You're not going to believe this! A friend just told me that her daughter is getting married! Can you imagine? And they invited us!"
Emiko groaned into the phone.
"Mom—"
"No! Don't interrupt me! I just have to ask, why don't *you* have a boyfriend? A beautiful girl like you? Emiko, really!"
Emiko pinched the bridge of her nose.
"Mom… I—"
"Anyway, take your time! Don't let anyone pressure you! You're beautiful, smart, and you deserve better than some man who doesn't appreciate you!"
Her mother hung up.
Emiko stared at the phone like it had personally betrayed her.
*Split personality much, mom? First she's nagging like a broken record, then suddenly she's giving motivational speeches. I can't even.*
She rolled her eyes, got up, washed her face, brushed her hair, and muttered under her breath while staring at herself in the mirror.
*I'm thirty-one. Thirty-one! And single! And the only guy I like is… *him.* The hot one who probably doesn't even know I exist as more than a coworker.*
She shook her head and left for work, trying to brush off the lingering emotional hangover.
---
Walking into the office, the first thing she saw made her stop in her tracks.
In the middle of everyone's desks stood a coworker, kneeling, holding a small box.
"What the—?" she whispered.
"Yes! Yes! Of course, I will marry you!" another voice shouted.
Cheering erupted. Balloons appeared from nowhere, confetti tossed in the air. Laughter, claps, and exaggerated squeals filled the space.
Emiko's brain short-circuited.
*Why is everyone suddenly getting married… at WORK?!*
Throughout the day, the whispers never stopped.
"She's twenty-three. He's twenty-five. Perfect match."
"They already have their lives sorted."
"So happy together at such a young age!"
"And unlike some people…"
Her ears burned as she passed groups of coworkers talking about her.
"…always alone, staring at her phone."
"…unserious about her life."
"…probably thinks she's too good for anyone."
Her stomach twisted, but she walked on, gritting her teeth and pretending not to hear.
----
Finally, as she was gathering her things to leave, three coworkers, married, settled, one even with a child, approached her like sharks smelling blood.
"Hey, Emiko," one said, smiling sweetly. "Do you have any plans after work?"
"Nope," Emiko replied politely. "Just heading home."
The lady laughed, not sweetly. Mockingly. "Oh, that's too bad. I wish I could say the same, but I have to pick up the kids. And my husband is waiting at home. Priorities, you know?"
Emiko forced a tiny smile, twitching slightly, refusing to show anger.
Another chipped in, "By the way, when are you actually going to get married? You're 31 already. Look at Erika, she just got proposed to at work today!"
*Erika? The 23-year-old girl?* Emiko thought, jaw tightening.
"Oh, and don't tell me you're still thinking about work? Priorities, Emiko, priorities," the first lady continued, wagging her finger. "Some of us have figured out how to balance life, love, and kids. You know… adulting."
The third added, leaning in slightly: "Honestly, I don't even understand how someone like you manages to survive all this time without someone taking care of you. It must be exhausting… all that independence and free time… what a burden!"
Emiko's cheeks twitched. She clenched her fists inside her bag, forcing a calm smile like she was a professional diplomat dealing with hostile territory.
"And don't even get me started on your fashion choices," the first one said, smirking. "You're perfectly presentable… but at 31, it might be time to upgrade a little. You know… for the right man."
Emiko's stomach twisted painfully, and her brain fired off a thousand retorts, all of them vicious and satisfying, but nothing came out.
They all gave one last fake laugh, lingering just long enough to make her want to disappear into the floor, then finally walked away, leaving Emiko standing there, stomach twisting, face twitching in annoyance, hands gripping her bag straps like a lifeline.
...
Back at her apartment, she dropped onto her bed, utterly defeated.
Her phone buzzed like it had a personal vendetta, calls from her mom, her boss, probably even the mailman at this point. She ignored them all.
She stared up at the ceiling, blinking back tears like a tragic heroine in a soap opera, before rolling her eyes so hard it nearly hurt.
*Am I defective?* she whispered, dramatically flopping onto her side. "Do I even function like a normal human being?!"
Her hands flew to her face. "Why me? Why is life like this? Why am I—"
She sat up abruptly, hair everywhere, one sock half off, glaring at the window like it personally betrayed her.
*No.*
She slammed a fist onto the bed beside her. "I… I am NOT going to let them mock me anymore! NO! I will rise! I will conquer! I WILL SHOW THOSE BITCHES—"
Her voice cracked dramatically, echoing off the walls of her tiny apartment.
Then she let out a loud, theatrical sob, flopping forward onto the bed again, arms spread wide, legs splayed.
"I—am—tragically misunderstood!" she wailed, letting the tears flow freely. "I—am thirty-one! I—am single! I—am… outrageously stunning and apparently terrifying to men!"
She paused, sniffled, wiped her face with the back of her hand, and gasped for air.
"Oh… they will rue the day they ever doubted me! EVERY SINGLE ONE!"
Her knees drew up to her chest as she clutched an imaginary sword. "I… will… rise… from this humiliating pile of inadequacy… and I will—wait, where is my sword?"
Her foot kicked her blanket aside. "Fine. I'll improvise! I'll use… determination!"
Tears still streaming, she flopped dramatically onto her side again, staring at the ceiling.
"I… will show them all. I will… conquer life, love, and possibly get a husband someday, but on MY TERMS!"
A tiny hiccup escaped her. She sniffled. "And if not… well… at least I look fabulous while plotting my revenge."
She let out one final, exhausted sigh, flinging an arm dramatically over her face. The city lights outside her window shone innocently, completely oblivious to her theatrical misery.
*Tomorrow… tomorrow, they'll see.*
...
The next morning, the office buzzed as usual.
Keyboards clacked. Phones rang. Gossip bubbled quietly in corners. Haruto sorted files, walking past coworkers, exchanging small nods, the picture of calm efficiency.
And then… it happened.
The door opened.
Everyone turned.
Even the printer paused mid-click, it seemed.
She walked in.
Emiko Fujiwara.
But not like yesterday. Not like the beige, tired, flustered, slightly disheveled girl they all knew.
No. Today, she *owned the room.*
Her aura screamed… something different. Something *exciting*. Something dangerously radiant.
Her office wear was immaculate, neatly pressed, elegant, professional, yet somehow eye-catching. Her king ginger hair was let down, cascading perfectly instead of the usual slightly chaotic bun. She smelled… intoxicating. Like she'd bottled confidence and sprayed it on.
And then… her hand.
The silver ring on her finger gleamed under the fluorescent office lights. The finger for married women.
Every head turned. Every jaw dropped.
*"Is that…?"* whispered someone.
*"No way…"* murmured another.
*"She… she's wearing a… ring?!"*
Haruto froze mid-step, carrying a stack of files. His brain short-circuited.
*What… is happening?*
She walked gracefully to her desk, eyes glinting with mischief. She greeted everyone with a warm smile, one hand lifted casually… the ring catching the light, gleaming like a tiny silver spotlight.
Gossip erupted instantly.
"Is that… Emiko's finger?" one coworker gasped.
"She's… married?!" another squealed.
"Wait, but… who… when—"
"Is she serious right now?!"
She laughed softly, like a goddess enjoying a small, private joke.
Haruto noticed the change. She looked… amazing. Stunning. Confident. But something was… *off*. Less clumsy, less tired… less her usual adorably frazzled self.
She made a show of adjusting her sleeve, letting the ring flash once more.
"Oh! And good morning!" she said, voice cheerful, professional… and a little *too* perfect.
The older gossip queen of the office, who held a degree in scrutinizing Emiko's life, stepped forward, wide-eyed.
"And… Emiko-san," she said carefully, like she was handling dynamite. "That… that ring? It's… um… it's… silver…?"
Emiko smiled sweetly, tilting her head, letting the silence stretch for maximum effect.
"Yes," she said, deliberately slow, letting her words land. "I'm married."
The office collectively froze. Even the air seemed to stop moving.
Haruto blinked. Once. Twice. Then his jaw dropped slightly.
*Wait. Married?*
His brain tried to catch up. Her usual clumsy, tired, slightly frazzled self… and now this dazzling, perfectly put-together, married version of her?
It hit him like a lightning bolt.
*She's… married?!*
The gossipers couldn't contain themselves any longer. Fingers pointed, whispers grew louder, jaws dropped in unison. Eyes flicked from her hand to her face, back to the ring.
And Emiko… she just sat down at her desk, smiling to herself, perfectly composed, while internally screaming, triumphant, and plotting her next move.
Mic. Dropped.