Somewhere between the chords

The week leading up to the spring festival was nothing short of chaotic. New projects, overflowing tasks, and language barriers that stretched Arohi's energy like an overused violin string. But despite the draining week, there was something about having Natsuo quietly by her side — like a comforting song she didn't have to request. He didn't hover, didn't pry. He was just… there. And somehow, that made the mess of Tokyo corporate life feel lighter.

Now, it was Saturday. The day of the spring festival at Sumida Park — one of Tokyo's famous hanami spots, now lit up for the hanabi event. Arohi had been looking forward to this for days.

But the morning? A complete disaster.

Her closet was a battlefield. Half-saree? Too overdressed. Indo-western? Risky. Jeans and hoodie? Too casual.

At last, she settled on her comfort zone — a soft cotton kurta with delicate floral block prints, paired with bootcut jeans and a white wedges. She added a bold touch with her oxidised jhumkas, a loose bun to frame her neck, and that familiar flick of eyeliner and kajal that made her eyes — large and fish-shaped — stand out.

She checked the clock. 4:03 PM. Panic.

Hurriedly dabbing on some blush and lip balm, she spritzed her rose-based perfume, subtle yet deeply feminine — the one her roommate back in Chennai called "main character energy."

She opened her door at the exact same moment Natsuo opened his.

He froze.

She froze.

His eyes scanned her — a soft pause in his breath — before he gave her a small smile. "You look…"

Arohi clutched the edge of her bag. "Overdressed?"

"No," he said, eyes crinkling. "Beautiful."

She blinked.

He wore a light yukata-style navy jacket over a white tee, paired with black jeans that fit too well. His messy hair still looked slightly damp from a shower, and his woody cologne lingered softly in the space between them — subtle but completely distracting.

He looked like a poem with no punctuation. And she was going to lose her mind.

They began walking toward Asakusa Station, shoulders brushing occasionally.

"So," she started, "I looked up all the stalls that are going to be there. I even saved a list of the best food trucks."

He chuckled. "You're excited."

"Understatement."

The metro was packed. Festival season had pulled half of Tokyo out onto the streets. They got squished into a crowded compartment, and in the blur of moving bodies, Arohi was backed into the corner near the sliding doors. Natsuo ended up shielding her — one hand above her on the rail, the other steadying himself.

The pose was accidental.

But the moment?

Highly intentional by the universe.

Arohi's eyes widened at the proximity. Her heart pounded. His scent was stronger now. He was too close, yet not touching her — his posture respectful, eyes staring out at the doors, as if giving her space without moving away.

She dared a glance up at him.

His jaw was sharp. Hair falling slightly onto his forehead. Glasses slipping a little.

He didn't look at her — but the corners of his lips curved slightly.

"You're staring," he murmured.

She snapped her head the other way. "No, I wasn't."

He chuckled under his breath.

By the time they got off at Asakusa, she wanted to bury herself in the vending machine next to the stairs.

The festival was alive. Strings of paper lanterns, food stalls, game booths, and the scent of grilled yakitori and sweet dango. Children ran with cotton candy. Couples laughed under cherry blossom trees now tinged pink with dusk.

Natsuo and Arohi moved through it like two notes in the same melody.

He played a shooting game and won a tiny penguin plushie.

"Name it," he said, handing it to her.

She grinned. "Chibby."

"Chibby?"

"Don't judge. It suits him."

They walked more. She blabbered about random things — her old school, how Chennai used to have random summer carnivals near Marina Beach, and of course… Noir.

"I think I've heard this one," she said when one of Noir's tracks played from a distant speaker. "It's called 'Tide Echoes,' right?"

Natsuo nodded slowly, trying not to react.

"Ugh, I love him so much. His music is like… ocean rain and candlelight. Makes you feel things."

He raised a brow. "That specific, huh?"

"I mean it. If I ever meet Noir, I'd probably just cry."

He laughed. She didn't know why he looked flustered.

At a nearby stall, she got distracted by handmade accessories. He waited quietly as she examined every hairpin.

After she moved ahead, he doubled back.

She was busy taking pictures of a takoyaki stand when he tapped her shoulder. She turned.

He held out a sakura hairpin — pale pink petals, delicate beads dangling like tiny drops of rain.

"For you," he said. "Thought it matched the earrings."

Arohi stared, lips slightly parted. "You… remembered?"

He gently clipped it into her hair. "Hard not to."

Her hands clutched her kurta's hem, trying not to combust.

By 7:30 PM, they found a spot on the riverbank. Most people were already seated, waiting for the fireworks.

They sat close — too close — on the grass, sharing a small mat he'd brought. The crowd buzzed, kids squealed, music played softly from portable speakers around.

Then — the sky cracked open.

The first firework burst into a bloom of silver and violet.

Arohi inhaled sharply. She tilted her face up, eyes reflecting the sky's dance.

Natsuo watched her more than the fireworks.

She leaned lightly against him.

He didn't move.

Her hand brushed against his.

He didn't pull away.

Neither of them spoke. The noise was all above — but the tension was grounded right between their shoulders, their hands, their breathing.

He looked down.

She was already looking at him.

The silence stretched. Her fingers curled slightly.

He whispered in his mind: Not yet.

She thought to herself: Does he feel this too?

Then — awkwardness.

He shifted, clearing his throat. Pulled out the hairpin box. "Here. I forgot to give it properly."

She took it, eyes wide. "Natsuo… it's beautiful."

She smiled, soft and grateful, her eyes glowing in the firework's gold.

He didn't trust himself to say anything back. So he just smiled.

They walked back to the station.

Near her door, the evening finally catching up to both of them, he said, "Maybe… next time, we stay till the last firework?"

Arohi nodded, holding Chibby close. "Deal."

They lingered for a second.

And then went to their doors.

She placed the penguin on her pillow. Lay on her bed. Hugged it tight.

Her heart was doing somersaults.

Outside her window, one final firework lit the sky.

Inside her chest, something else had already begun to bloom.