"You should be resting," Oki pressed, voice firm, hands planting on her hips like a scolding senpai.
"No, no—I'm fine, just a lingerer," he insisted, waving it off with a weak chuckle.
Oki's gaze softened but stayed sharp. "You sure you're okay?"
"Positive," Haari nodded, then tilted his head, scanning the room. "Hey—where's Nicawa-san? She's not here yet?"
"Oh, Ashi?" Oki's posture eased, a small smile tugging her lips. "." Oh she go to submit some files today due to the sudden project thing their is lots of completed file which come to re-check hasn't been submit so she goes to submit them today."
"I see," Haari said, nodding slow, a flicker of relief in his tired eyes.
Later, the sun dipped low, painting the streets in soft oranges as Haari trudged home, his apartment key jangling in his pocket. His steps faltered near the Old Man's shop, its warm light spilling out like a beacon. Three familiar figures perched at a table—Mina, Nilu, Riya—the trio from before, their laughter a bright chime against the evening hush.
"Hm? Those girls again?" Haari mused, pausing, a faint smile tugging his lips as he lingered in the shadow of the doorway.
The Old Man stood behind the counter, silver hair glinting under the lamp, his rag polishing a glass with rhythmic care. He beamed at the girls, voice rumbling warm like a hearth fire. "So, how is your college life going?"
Nilu slurped her noodles, eyes sparkling. "Really well, Old Man! Every bite here feels like a win!"
"Every day's a blast!" Mina chirped, bouncing in her seat, her enthusiasm a burst of confetti.
"Yeah!" Riya nodded, grinning wide. "Today we threw a huge farewell party for our teacher—total chaos, total fun!"
"Glad to hear it," the Old Man said, his twinkle sharpening with pride. "How about a treat for that farewell? My special recipe—on the house!"
Mina's smile softened, hands patting her stomach. "Thanks, Old Man, but we're stuffed—couldn't fit another bite!"
"Same here," Nilu groaned, leaning back with a dramatic sigh. "Too full!"
The Old Man chuckled, deep and rich, leaning forward like a sage unveiling a secret. "No worries—my special recipe always has a special place in customer belly."
"Eh?" Riya blinked, leaning in, curiosity glinting like a cat's. "What does that mean?"
He tapped his chest, grin widening, voice brimming with quiet swagger. "Means it fills your heart—taste so good, it lights you up inside. That's the trick!"
The trio—Mina, Nilu, Riya—tilted their heads, brows scrunching in unison. "Heart? Belly?" Their voices overlapped, a confused chorus, eyes blinking like puzzled kittens under the shop's warm glow.
Mina waved a hand, polite but drooping with exhaustion. "Thanks, Old Man, but we're wiped out today. Next time, we'll tackle that special recipe—promise! Bye for now?"
The Old Man's smile crinkled his weathered face, warm as a hearth. "Alright, I'll hold you to it. Rest up, girls!" He waved them off, their laughter fading into the dusk as they shuffled out, leaving the shop quiet—save for the clink of his rag against a glass.
Haari stepped in, shoes scuffing the worn floor, his silhouette framed by the twilight glow. "Hey, Old Man," he called, voice raspy but steady, a warrior back from the brink.
"Haari!" The Old Man's eyes flared like lanterns, twinkling with delight. "You're up and kicking! Recovered, eh?"
"Mostly," Haari said, rubbing his neck, a faint flush still clinging to his cheeks. "Not a hundred percent yet, but close."
"Your girlfriend's a real gem," the Old Man said, leaning forward, voice dripping with knowing. "That smell wafting from your place yesterday? Was pure magic. She's a kitchen sorceress!"
Haari blinked, head tilting like a baffled pup. "Huh? What're you on about, Old Man?"
"Don't play dumb!" The Old Man chuckled, wagging a finger. "Yesterday, you ordered grub from me. When I dropped it off, I caught a whiff—spices so rich they could wake the dead! When I peeked in, there she was—your girl, stirring up a storm in your kitchen."
"Ohhh," Haari's eyes widened, memory clicking. "You mean Nicawa-san."
"Nicawa!" The Old Man sighed, nostalgic, like he'd tasted a forgotten dish. "Sweet name—rolls off the tongue."
"No, no—hold up!" Haari waved his hands, frantic as a dodging a trap. "She's not my girlfriend! Just a coworker—came by to check on me yesterday."
The Old Man's grin faltered, a dramatic sag of disappointment. "Just a friend? Not your girl?"
"Yeah," Haari nodded, firm but flustered.
"She's quite pretty though," the Old Man mused, eyes glinting with sudden mischief. "Say… how about slipping me her number?"
Haari's jaw tightened, brow arching sharp. "Why'd you need that?"
The Old Man leaned in, voice dropping to a conspiratorial purr. "Well, if she's just a pal to you, maybe this old dog's got a shot! I could confess—sweep her off her feet!"
Haari choked, a noodle lodging mid-throat, eyes bulging like a fish yanked from water. "WHAT?! Old Man, have you lost your dam mind?!" He coughed, pounding his chest, face flaming red.
"Why's it bug you?" the Old Man shot back, defensive, puffing up like a ruffled owl. "What's the harm?"
"It's not about me!" Haari sputtered, voice pitching high. "She's my friend! And you—you're married! Plus, you're old enough to be her grandpa! It's… "
The Old Man crossed his arms, unfazed, wisdom glinting beneath his tease. "Being a friend doesn't mean you can stop people from approaching her. She's a woman, and she's beautiful too. Many people will be interested in her and will want to confess their feelings at some point,"
Haari froze, words jamming in his throat, a stunned deer in the Old Man's headlights.
"If you don't want anyone sniffing around," the Old Man pressed, voice low and sly, "why don't you make her your own?"
"My own?" Haari echoed, voice cracking, eyes wide as saucers.
"I told you the same thing last time," the Old Man said, tapping the counter like a sage dropping truth. "Time is ticking, so you'd better decide what you want—or someone else will."
Haari stood rooted, the shop's warm hum fading to a distant buzz, the Old Man's words echoing like a gong in his reeling mind.
Morning light streamed through Haari's curtains, soft and golden, spilling across his bed where he sat, legs crossed, brow furrowed deep. The Old Man's words clanged in his skull like a relentless bell—"Why not make her your own?" Ashi's face flickered in his mind, her quiet smile, her curry-stained apron. Just a friend, right? But now, a flutter stirred in his chest, unfamiliar, warm, and maddeningly persistent. He rubbed his face, groaning low, a wrestling an inner foe.
Outside, the city pulsed with pre-Holi madness. The festival loomed days away, but the streets already thrummed—kids darting through alleys like wild sprites, their laughter a battle cry as they hurled water at unsuspecting souls, splashes glinting like liquid jewels in the sun.
Haari trudged into the office, raincoat hood cinched tight, a knight in waterproof armor. He shook off stray droplets, the plastic crinkling, and lifted his gaze—only to freeze. Ashi stood there, arms crossed, head tilted, her hazel eyes locking onto him with a mix of curiosity and tease. Oki flanked her, brows arched high, both staring like he'd sprouted wings.
His heart lurched, a clumsy ba-dump echoing loud. Heat crept up his neck, blooming red across his cheeks—oh no, not now! He ducked his head, fumbling with the raincoat zipper, fingers trembling as Ashi's voice cut through, sharp and playful. "Kichiro-san… why are you wearing a raincoat? It's bright and sunny out there!"
"Uh—j-just staying dry!" he stammered, voice pitching high, yanking the zipper down to reveal his crisp shirt beneath. He shrugged, too casual, too quick, avoiding her gaze as his blush deepened, a neon sign screaming his fluster. Don't look at her, don't look—too late! Her ponytail swayed, her lips quirked—cute, too cute—and his brain short-circuited.
Oki blinked, head tilting like a puzzled owl. "Dry? From what—the heat?"
Haari gestured toward the window, where faint water streaks gleamed on the glass, Holi's early chaos in full swing. "Festival's coming—kids are out there ambushing everyone with water already. Didn't wanna roll in soaked before work, so…" He trailed off, shrugging again, praying his face cooled down.
Before Ashi or Oki could fire back, the door slammed open with a wet squelch. Rafta staggered in, a drowned prince—hair plastered flat, clothes dripping rivers, a soggy mess from head to toe. The room hushed, jaws dropping, eyes bulging in a collective anime freeze-frame.
"…What happened to you?" Oki finally squeaked, eyes wide as saucers.
Rafta chuckled, shaking his arms—droplets flew like a dramatic rain effect, sparkling in the light. "Ran into a Holi hit squad—little gremlins with water buckets. They thought I'd be their best target!" His grin flashed, undaunted, a laughing off defeat.
Ashi clapped a hand over her mouth, giggles spilling out like bubbles. "You got caught in a pre-festival water war?!"
"Yep!" Rafta sighed, theatrical, raking a hand through his drenched locks, water cascading down. "I tried dodging them, but they were too fast. Before I knew it, I was completely drenched."
Oki smirked, arms crossing. "Did they at least apologize?"
"Nah," Rafta laughed, peeling off his soaked blazer with a wet flop. "Just whooped and ran off. Honestly? It was kinda fun—felt like a kid again, storm and all."
Ashi shook her head, amusement dancing in her eyes. "Well, you've officially brought Holi into the office, Densi-san."
"Yeah, yeah," Rafta groaned, wringing his sleeve, a puddle forming at his feet. " I go and dry off before I flood the place."
Oki nudged Haari, smirking sly. Okay, maybe the raincoat idea wasn't so weird after all."
Haari shot her a smug grin, finally daring a glance at Ashi—her laughter still lingered, soft and bright, and his blush flared anew. "Told ya," he mumbled, heart tripping over itself as the Old Man's words echoed louder.
The rooftop stretched wide and open, a sanctuary above the office's hum, where Haari and Ashi escaped during their break. The sky unfurled above, a boundless blue kissed by wisps of cloud, a soft breeze weaving through, carrying the faint pop-pop of water balloons bursting below. The city thrummed with pre-Holi life—children darting like fireflies through the streets, their shrieks and giggles rising like a melody on the wind.
Ashi leaned against the railing, her fingers tapping a gentle rhythm on the cool metal, her hazel eyes tracing the chaos below. Water splashed in glittering arcs, balloons exploding in bursts of liquid rainbows, kids chasing each other with wild abandon. A small smile bloomed on her lips, soft and wistful, like a flower caught in a memory.
"You know," she murmured, voice floating light as the breeze, "Holi was always one of my favorite festivals growing up."
Haari lounged on the low wall beside her, legs stretched long, head tilting as the wind tousled his already messy hair. He followed her gaze, dark eyes glinting with quiet curiosity. "Really? What do you like about it?"
She exhaled, a soft puff that carried years in its wake, her expression melting into nostalgia. "Everything, I guess. The colors bursting everywhere, the laughter ringing out, the way it pulls people together—like magic." Her words glowed warm, a cradling a cherished past, her smile deepening as if she could still taste the sweets of yesteryear.
Haari listened, his own lips curving faint, a shadow of her warmth reflecting back. "Sounds… nice," he said, voice low but genuine. He paused, then added, almost shy, "I don't think I've ever really celebrated Holi."
Ashi spun to face him, ponytail whipping, eyes widening like a spark had ignited. "Wait—never? For real?"