“Takada, here she is again,” Nishioka nudged at Haruya’s elbow. He looked up and saw a petite young woman walking in.

She always comes around every few days to send tiny parcels. Her long bleached hair would fall over her face, her baggy clothes making it impossible to tell her gender unless she spoke.

She used a special delivery sticker that conceals both the sender’s and recipient’s information. But it would show in the system that the locations and recipients’ addresses would always differ and be spread across the country. She had kept all the receipts for a small discount, a little service the postal service provides for regular customers.

For the item description, it was always ‘apparel’ and nothing else. Haruya assumed she must be selling handmade items online and doing pretty well.

“Good day to you,” Haruya greeted her as usual.

“Hello,” she replied. Her voice was quiet as she dropped the small packages.

Swiftly, he scanned them one by one, the rhythmic beep of the scanner filling the brief silence between them. He noticed her hands trembled slightly as she waited, though her face remained hidden behind a curtain of bleached strands.

Haruya wondered why she always seemed so nervous, and today she was even trembling. Was it the weather, or something more?

“Ok, you’re all set. Due to the harsh weather conditions, some may take longer than usual,” Haruya informed her and handed her the receipt. “This will be your check for today, discounts applied.”

The girl looked up, coincidentally making eye contact with Haruya. She wore colored contacts, like the ones he’d seen at drugstores. They were pinkish purple, startling against her pale skin.

The connection only lasted for a few seconds before the girl looked down again, fumbling for her wallet. Her fingers seemed clumsy against the worn leather, and Haruya noticed how thin her wrists were, almost delicate beneath the oversized sleeves of her jacket.

As usual, she did her best to give exact change. She slipped several bills and coins onto the tray and slid the tray forward to Haruya.

“Thank you for the exact change,” he took the tray and the bills, dumping them into the automated coin slots, then the bills into the other. “Here’s your receipt.”

Slowly, she took the receipt, but in between her fingers, she was holding a folded piece of paper. In one swift movement, she slipped the paper into Haruya’s palm as she took the receipt and dashed out the door.

“Miss,” Haruya held up the piece of paper, but she was already out the door.

“What’s that all about?” Nishioka walked over as Haruya unfolded the paper.

Mr. Takada, will you have dinner with me? At Kasumiya tonight after your shift.

“Ooooohh!!!” Nishioka’s voice boomed across the small post office, drawing the attention of the other clerks. “My boy’s got a date tonight!”

Haruya’s heart hammered against his ribs as he stared at the note, the neat, slightly feminine handwriting a stark contrast to the girl’s nervous demeanor. He could feel Nishioka’s heavy hand on his shoulder, the familiar weight of his colleague’s teasing grin.

A flush crept up Haruya’s neck, hot and unwelcome. He quickly folded the note, stuffing it into his pocket. “It’s probably nothing,” he mumbled, though his mind was already racing.

Kasumiya tonight after your shift.

The restaurant wasn’t far—a quiet, mid-range place known for its soba. Not the kind of spot for a casual fling.

“You’re not thinking of going, are you?” Nishioka pressed, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “She’s a bit ... odd, don’t you think? All those packages, never say more than two words.”

Haruya didn’t answer. He glanced toward the door, half-expecting to see the girl standing there, her bleached hair hiding her face. But the street was empty, the wind whipping rain against the glass. The note felt heavy in his pocket, a secret he wasn’t sure he wanted to keep—or return.

“Haruya, there aren’t any strict rules against dating a customer, but she’s a regular, so be careful,” said Suga, the senior staff member of the post office. “But it’s about damn time you go out and have some fun! You’re single, and in a few years you’ll be 30! Go!” Suga started laughing.

Haruya felt his face flush even deeper at Suga’s words, the senior staff’s laughter echoing in the small space. He’d always respected Suga, but right now, he wished the older man would mind his own business.

“It’s not like that,” Haruya protested weakly, but his voice was drowned out by Nishioka’s dramatic sniffle.

“And hot,” Nishioka chimed in, nudging Haruya again. “Every time we go on a mixer (goukon), all the girls keep asking about him, and not poor Nishioka.”

Haruya shot his colleague an exasperated look. “That’s not true,” he muttered, though he knew there was some truth to it. He’d never been comfortable with the attention, always finding excuses to leave early or sit at the far end of the table.

The note in his pocket seemed to burn against his thigh. He couldn’t deny the girl was intriguing—the way her pinkish-purple contacts had caught his attention, the mystery of her frequent packages labeled simply ‘apparel.’ But dinner? At Kasumiya? It felt too sudden, too intimate.

Still, as he glanced at the clock, counting down the hours until his shift ended, he couldn’t shake the image of her trembling hands as she’d slipped him the note. There was a vulnerability there that tugged at something inside him, something he hadn’t felt in a long time.

“Maybe I’ll just see what she wants,” he said finally, his voice barely audible. “No promises.”

Haruya walked carefully through the puddles from the earlier rain. He checked the time and stopped in his tracks, right by the crossroads. To the right was the way to the station where most people were heading. He could catch the next train if he picked up the pace.

To the left was Kasumiya, the soba restaurant where a girl with pink-purplish eyes might be waiting.

The piece of paper was still in his pocket, and he took it out to read it again.

Haruya let out a heavy sigh. After every goukon, he would be strong-armed into exchanging user IDs, and he would be flooded with messages, sometimes with pictures he had not asked for. Eventually, he would lie and say he had forgotten his phone and didn’t know his own number.

Though this felt different.

It’s just a dinner invitation, and the old-fashioned way she did it was rather adorable.

Haruya crunched the paper into his pocket and turned his heels to the left.

The warm light from Kasumiya’s lanterns spilled onto the wet pavement, casting a gentle glow that drew him closer. The familiar scent of buckwheat noodles and dashi broth wafted through the air, comforting in its simplicity. As he slid open the wooden door, the gentle murmur of conversation and the clinking of ceramic bowls greeted him. His eyes scanned the intimate dining area, taking in the dark wood fixtures and the single calligraphy scroll depicting the changing seasons. A waitress in a traditional apron bowed slightly, motioning toward a small table in the corner where steam rose from two cups of tea already poured.

Haruya almost couldn’t recognize her. She held her bleached hair up in a loose bun, a few strands escaping to frame a delicate, sharp-featured face he’d never fully seen before. He wasn’t an expert, but she didn’t seem to be wearing any makeup, yet her eyebrows were perfectly arched, hovering over large eyes with rich, dark lashes. Her lips were plump and naturally pink, her cheeks holding a soft blush against her pale complexion.

The nervous energy she always projected at the post office had vanished, replaced by a quiet confidence, and she offered him a genuine smile as he approached.

“You came,” she said, her voice clear and surprisingly pleasant—almost melodic, with a gentle lilt he hadn’t detected before.

“Uhm ... well ... yes,” Haruya cleared his throat, feeling suddenly awkward under her steady gaze.

“Please, sit,” she gestured to the seat across from her with an elegant hand movement. He lowered himself onto the vinyl cushions, which sighed softly under his weight. The table between them was small and intimate, and he could smell the subtle floral scent of her perfume mingling with the aroma of the steaming soba broth from the nearby kitchen.

“So, uh, Miss...” Haruya began, fumbling for the right words.

“Just call me Kayo, Mr. Takada,” she replied with a soft smile, handing him a menu. Her fingers brushed against his briefly, sending an unexpected warmth up his arm.

“Ah, yes, uhm ... please just call me Haruya then,” he took the menu, suddenly feeling his throat go dry.

“I’ve seen you have dinner here before, so that’s why I chose this place,” Kayo said while browsing the menu, her eyes scanning the options with an ease that contrasted sharply with her usual nervousness at the post office.

“Do you ... live around here?” he asked, trying to make conversation despite the strange circumstances of their meeting.

“You could say that,” she replied vaguely, taking an order slip from the side of the table. She wrote her order with the tiny pencil provided. “Duck sounds good. I hope it’s tender.” She slid the form to him with a graceful motion.

“They are. It’s my usual go-to. But I think I’ll just have the kitsune for tonight.” He wrote it down and called for the waiter, who quickly collected their orders and disappeared toward the kitchen.

As they waited in the comfortable silence that followed, Haruya found himself studying her more closely. Without her baggy clothes and with her hair styled away from her face, she appeared years younger than he’d initially thought. There was a freshness about her that made him feel both intrigued and slightly uneasy.

“Why did you ask me to dinner, Kayo?” he finally asked, deciding directness might be best.

“Well, you’re my type, and if things go well, I need help with something,” she smiled, her eyes crinkling at the corners.

Haruya’s face felt warm at her casual straightforwardness, the heat creeping up his neck.

“I’m ... flattered,” he cleared his throat, suddenly feeling like a teenager on his first date. “But I uh ... I may be a bit too old for you,” he scratched his head, avoiding her gaze.

Kayo stared at him, then tilted her head, her lips curving into an amused smile. “How old do you think I am, Haruya?”

“Oh! Uh...” he was raised to believe that asking or guessing a girl’s age was rude, but she didn’t look like she was being coy. It was a sincere question, her expression open and curious. “20?” He carefully guessed.

Kayo puffed her cheeks before breaking into genuine laughter, the sound light and musical. She reached for her wallet and pulled out her driver’s license. “I’m 29,” she showed him her birth year, pointing to it with a perfectly manicured nail.

“I—! You ... you’re older than me? I’m 26,” and he immediately slapped his own mouth, feeling he was stepping into dangerous territory.

“It’s in our genes, they say,” she quoted with a wink, tucking her license back into her wallet. “Good skincare and avoiding stress help too.” She leaned forward slightly, her voice dropping to a more intimate tone. “So now that we’ve established I’m not some young girl with a crush, can we talk about how you’re going to help me?”

“What kind of help?” Haruya then realized, what if this was some kind of trap? Maybe she’s recruiting downlines for a pyramid scheme. Or insurance. Crap! He cursed himself internally.

“Before that, let’s enjoy our hot soba on a rainy day,” she gestured towards the waiter bringing in their order on a cart.

“Oh, uhm ... yes ... of course.”

They enjoyed their soba noodles. The duck soba arrived first, slices of tender roast fanned across the buckwheat noodles, the broth a rich, dark amber that steamed fragrantly in the restaurant’s cool air. Beside it, Haruya’s kitsune soba sat in its own bowl, the sweet fried tofu resting atop the noodles like a golden blanket. They ate in comfortable silence for a few moments, the only sounds being the gentle slurping of noodles and the distant clatter from the kitchen. Haruya found himself relaxing as the warm broth spread through him, chasing away the chill of the rainy evening. He watched as Kayo ate with delicate precision, somehow managing to look elegant even while consuming a humble bowl of noodles. The contrast between her nervous post office persona and this confident woman before him grew more striking with each passing moment.

“I almost didn’t recognize you,” Haruya said, slurping the noodles. The warmth of the broth was soothing, but the tension in his shoulders remained.

“Why is that?” Kayo asked, her eyes meeting his over the rim of her bowl. “The duck is tender and doesn’t taste gamey. This is good.”

“Right? And uh ... well ... forgive me but ... You always keep your hair and face down, and seem to be nervous every time you step in the post office.” He picked up the bowl to drink the broth. “And today, probably from the cold, you were shaking.”

“Oh, that’s because I set the vibrator a bit too strong today,” Kayo blew on her noodles before slurping them delicately.

“I see, the vi—” he paused, the word catching in his throat. His chopsticks froze halfway to his mouth. “Excuse me?”

“There was a vibrator inside me, and I set it too strong today. I usually let my hair and face down because I’m not good at hiding my facial expression.” She laughed casually, as if discussing the weather.

Haruya dropped the chopsticks, which clattered loudly against the table. He must be hallucinating, or perhaps misunderstanding something. Maybe she meant those stomach toners that were popular a few years back? Yes, that had to be it.

“I should explain before your brain explodes.” Kayo picked up her bowl and drank up the remaining broth. She placed the empty bowl down with a soft click and looked at him straight in the eyes.

“I sell my used panties online,” she said bluntly.

Haruya stared at her, his mind racing to connect the dots. The frequent packages, the nervousness, the trembling—it all started to make a strange, unsettling sense. He felt his face flush as he imagined what those tiny parcels contained, who they were being sent to, and why. The ‘apparel’ description suddenly took on a whole new meaning.

“You ... what?” he finally managed, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Don’t tell me you’ve never heard about it?” Kayo tilted her head again, her expression more amused than shocked.