Somewhere between the chords

The hum of the office buzzed around Arohi as she sat in the client meeting room. Her notepad was filled with sketches, annotations, and translation notes. Aya-san sat beside her, calmly interpreting the conversation with the Japanese client while Arohi tried to remain composed. It was going well—until the client, a middle-aged man in a crisp grey suit, slammed a folder down in frustration and raised his voice.

"Kore wa chigau! Kore ja nai!" he snapped, pointing at the board.

Aya flinched subtly. The room stiffened. Though the words were in Japanese, the tone pierced through any language barrier. Arohi felt her stomach drop. Her chest tightened as her mind echoed with an older, familiar tone of anger. Her father's voice from years ago.

She sat still. Blinking. Legs frozen. Heart racing. Aya-san quickly calmed the situation, but Arohi's brain had already spiraled.

After the meeting ended, she excused herself quickly and grabbed her bag. The metro ride home was a blur. She sat silently by the window, her leg shaking uncontrollably. Her fingers clenched the hem of her kurta. Her rose-scented perfume felt distant, muted by the sweat and unease clinging to her.

Her father's voice came back again. Loud. Cutting. Cruel.

"Do you always mess things up? Just stay quiet!"

Arohi's vision blurred with tears.

She got off at her stop and rushed out of the station. Her sandals hit the pavement harder than usual. She reached her apartment, unlocked the door, stepped in, and slammed it shut. Hard.

Next door, Natsuo blinked mid-recording. The reverb from the door echoed faintly through his studio monitors. He tilted his head. Something felt... off. But he shrugged slightly and turned back to the track he was editing. His headphones muffled the world again.

Evening crept in.

Outside, the Tokyo skyline glimmered under a lavender dusk. Inside her apartment, Arohi sat curled up on the balcony floor. Her arms were wrapped tightly around her knees. Her eyes swollen, cheeks blotchy. The sun dipped lower, casting golden streaks through the railings.

Natsuo stepped out to water the tiny potted plant on his windowsill. He paused.

She was sitting there.

He could tell something was wrong.

No earphones in. No sketchbook. Just silence. Her head resting on her knees. Her fingers trembling.

He dashed inside without a word, grabbed a pack of salted chips and a convenience store melon bread from his kitchen, and walked over. He hesitated a second before knocking gently.

Once.

Twice.

No response.

He waited.

Finally, a soft rustle behind the door.

Arohi slowly opened it—just a crack.

Her face was mostly hidden behind the wooden frame. Only one eye visible. The rest shadowed. The puffiness in her eye didn't go unnoticed.

"Hey..." he said gently.

She didn't speak.

He held up the snacks awkwardly like a peace offering.

She opened the door a little wider but still stayed half-hidden.

"Can I... come in?"

A pause.

Then a nod.

Natsuo stepped inside and sat slowly on the floor beside her couch, giving her space.

She closed the door behind him and sat down on the far end of the couch, curled like a prawn. Her hands still trembled slightly.

"Rough day?" he asked quietly.

She nodded, still not meeting his eyes.

He reached out slowly and placed his fingers on hers. She flinched for a second. Then let him. He gently rubbed her knuckles with his thumb.

"You don't have to tell me everything. But... if you want to talk, I'm here."

A beat of silence. Then another. Her lip trembled.

"Loud voices... they remind me of home. Not the good kind. My dad... he yelled a lot," she whispered.

His brows furrowed, but he stayed calm. "I get it. You don't have to explain more than you're ready for."

She continued, voice cracking. "Even if someone else yells now... it just... brings it all back. My whole body shuts down."

Natsuo didn't interrupt. He just nodded, eyes soft.

She glanced at him. "But you're always... so quiet. Even now, you're not asking a million questions."

"Because sometimes," he said gently, "you don't need answers. Just someone sitting beside you."

Arohi smiled faintly.

He pulled out his phone and raised his eyebrows. "Bluetooth on?"

She nodded slowly.

He connected it to her speaker and opened a playlist. Soft instrumental music began to fill the room. Then a few gentle indie tracks. Some Noir.

Her head slowly leaned onto his shoulder.

The room was quiet, but warm. The kind of silence that heals.

They listened. A few tracks passed.

She exhaled deeply.

"Feeling better?" he whispered.

She nodded.

She sat up and wiped her face with a tissue. "Thank you."

"I didn't really do anything. Just... sat beside someone I like during their bad moment."

Arohi paused.

Her eyes widened slightly.

His also.

They both blushed.

The silence now was louder. The air between them, warm with something unnamed.

He cleared his throat and chuckled nervously. "Sorry... that came out of nowhere."

She shook her head, smiling shyly.

He opened the playlist again and clicked "Share."

She looked at the name.

Your Calmness.

Her heart thudded.

"That's... so sweet."

"You calmed me too, you know. When you stood on your balcony that night. I was anxious. Your presence helped."

She smiled wider.

He stood up, stretching. "Come on. Kombini trip? Might help get your mind off."

"Now?"

"Now."

They walked side by side to the nearby convenience store. The street was quiet, the neon lights soft. They picked up ready-to-eat ramen bowls and cold drinks.

They sat on a bench nearby, slurping quietly. The night had settled like a comforter.

They laughed a little over some silly ad on the kombini TV.

And when they returned, unlocking their doors next to each other, he stopped halfway.

"There's a spring festival this weekend," he said casually, still not facing her.

"Oh?"

"If you're free, we could go. Together."

She paused.

Then smiled. "Okay. I'd love that."

He nodded. "Cool. Night then."

"Night."

She entered her room, dropped her bag, and collapsed on her bed.

Then giggled.

A pillow was hugged tight.

She buried her face into it, her cheeks still warm.

Outside, Tokyo slept.

But in a tiny apartment, two hearts felt... a little lighter.