Ayaka let out a deep sigh as she twirled her pen slowly between her fingers, the soft scratching sound the only thing grounding her in the moment.
The air inside the event hall was warm, laced with the faint scent of paper, fresh ink, and pine-scented holiday candles burning gently at the corners.
Today was supposed to be one of the biggest days of her career—the highly anticipated book signing for her newest novel, the one that had already stirred countless discussions online.
Yet as she sat at the long, polished table, waiting for the doors to open, she found herself staring absently out the wide glass windows, her chest tight with emotions that had nothing to do with writing.
Outside, a growing crowd of fans had gathered, bundled in scarves and coats, their hands wrapped tightly around copies of her book.
Some held signs with her name, others laughed as they posed for selfies beside a life-sized poster of her novel cover.
The excitement was palpable even through the glass, but inside, Ayaka felt a dull ache of detachment.
'Three more days until Christmas...' she thought, biting the inside of her cheek. 'Yuki and Keiko will be with their boyfriends, Kei's drowning in hospital shifts again… and that leaves just me and Kai.'
A bitter chuckle escaped her lips.
It wasn't that she didn't love spending time with Kai—her older brother had always been a comforting constant in her life—but the routine of their quiet Christmases had begun to feel like a silent echo of something missing.
Takeout dinners, movies half-watched while they both scrolled on their phones, and carefully wrapped gifts that lacked surprise.
It wasn't loneliness exactly... but it wasn't joy either.
She was just beginning to spiral deeper into her thoughts when a loud *BANG* shook the table, startling her upright.
"Ayaka!" came a deep, gravelly voice, full of barely restrained excitement.
She looked up sharply to see Daiki, her longtime editor-in-chief, standing beside her table.
His silver-streaked hair was combed neatly back, though a few strands always defied gravity.
His thick-framed glasses perched low on his nose as usual, and his suit was slightly wrinkled from what she imagined had been hours of pacing and last-minute organizing.
He clapped a hand against the table again, eyes twinkling. "Stop brooding, young lady! This is a celebration, not a funeral."
Ayaka blinked, then offered him a sheepish smile. "Sorry, Mr. Takahashi. Just... thinking."
"Well, stop thinking. Start dazzling!" he said with a wink. "The interview crew's setting up as we speak. We've got media, publishers, and half the literary world watching. You look like you just finished writing a tragedy."
She gave a small laugh, rubbing the back of her neck. "I guess I'm just... overwhelmed."
"Nerves mean you care!" Daiki said simply, resting a hand on her shoulder. "Now, let's give these people a show they'll remember."
He turned with theatrical flair and raised a hand toward the staff by the entrance. "Let's open the doors!"
With a mechanical *CLUNK*, the locks disengaged, and the heavy glass doors swung open.
A gust of crisp winter air swept in with the rush of people pouring into the hall.
The noise hit like a wave—excited chatter, shoes tapping against the floor, the rapid-fire of camera shutters.
Fans hurried inside, ushered into line by staff wearing festive red sashes.
The line grew quickly, winding around the interior of the event space, every person holding a copy of Ayaka's book close to their chest like it held a secret.
Ayaka sat up straighter, smoothing the front of her blazer, heart hammering against her ribs. This was it.
The first fan—a teenage girl with bright eyes and a shaking hand—approached the table, barely able to speak as she held out her copy.
"I-I read it in one night." she stammered. "Your characters… they made me feel like I wasn't alone."
Ayaka's chest tightened. All her anxiety, all the sleepless nights editing scenes and doubting every word—this was why she did it.
She smiled, gently taking the book and signing it with a flourish, adding a small star beside her name.
"Thank you." she said softly, making sure to meet the girl's eyes. "You're the reason I write."
The girl covered her mouth to hide a squeal and rushed off, replaced immediately by a man in his twenties with dog-eared pages and highlighted quotes.
One by one, the fans came—some teary, some giddy, some utterly speechless.
Each one carried a different story of how her words had touched them.
And slowly, the tension in Ayaka's body began to melt.
She looked up briefly and caught a glimpse of Kai in the crowd, standing off to the side near the media booth.
He wasn't one for public fanfare, but he offered her a thumbs-up and a small, lopsided smile.
Her heart softened. He always showed up, no matter how busy he was.
By the time the fiftieth book was slid toward her, her signing hand had started to cramp, but she didn't care.
The energy of the room was infectious—laughter rang out, conversations buzzed, and every now and then, Daiki would shuffle over to offer her a water bottle and a muttered reminder to "Smile more like a bestseller, not a mortician."
When a short break was finally called before the live interview, Ayaka sat back in her chair and exhaled deeply, her cheeks sore from smiling, but in the best way possible.
Outside, the sun had dipped lower, golden light through the windows.
Snow had begun to fall—soft and silent, the kind that made the world feel brand new.
And somehow, in that moment, Ayaka didn't feel quite so alone.
------
The break between the book signing and the scheduled interview flew by in a blur of autographs, flashes, and friendly chatter.
When Ayaka was finally ushered onto the small stage at the front of the hall—set with soft lights, a backdrop of her novel cover, and a pair of plush chairs facing a sleek camera crew—her heart had already begun to pound again, harder this time.
The crowd quieted as the interviewer, a polished woman with a calm voice and a practiced smile, welcomed the audience to the live segment.
"And now..." she said, turning slightly toward Ayaka with a curious tilt of her head, "We're honored to sit with the author herself—Ms. Midnight, the mysterious talent behind one of this year's most emotionally gripping novels. Ms. Yamamoto congratulations on your latest success."
"Thank you." Ayaka said politely, smiling, though her fingers curled tightly around the edges of her seat.
The interview began smoothly enough—questions about her writing routine, her inspiration for the setting, how she balanced the real world and fiction.
Ayaka answered them all with calm professionalism, even cracking a few shy jokes that made the crowd chuckle.
She'd done this before.
She knew how to navigate interviews.
But then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw movement near the side entrance of the hall.
She turned her head instinctively—and her breath caught.
Kai and Kei.
Her brothers stood just beyond the curtain, watching silently.
Kai gave her a small nod and a crooked smile of reassurance.
Kei, as always, stood with his arms crossed, his expression unreadable but focused on her like a protective hawk.
Their presence was unexpected—but deeply grounding.
She barely had a second to react before the interviewer shifted in her seat and asked the question that Ayaka had been dreading the entire afternoon.
"I think I speak for many readers when I say that your characters felt so vivid… so real." the interviewer began, holding up a copy of the book.
"Especially the dynamic between the heroine, Ayaka, and the mysterious male lead—Akihiko. Their connection was haunting, intimate, and emotionally raw. And you used your own name for the heroine, didn't you?"
Ayaka froze.
She recalled Akihiko telling her to change the names of the characters and it was a last minute plan.
The interviewer leaned in, intrigued. "So we have to ask… who was the inspiration behind Akihiko?"
The air inside the hall turned electric. The question hung in the silence like a held breath.
Ayaka felt her stomach twist.
She opened her mouth—then closed it.
Memories surged forward without warning: the late nights they spent working side-by-side, the steady rhythm of his voice as he read her chapters aloud, his infuriatingly calm teasing, the way his fingers had brushed against her wrist when she was too tired to keep writing.
His silver hair.
His eyes.
Their kiss.
His silence when he left without a word.
Her throat tightened as she stared down at the floor.
Her hands trembled on her lap.
Akihiko was not a character.
He was a ghost she still carried inside her.
"Ms. Midnight?" the interviewer prompted gently.
She slowly looked up—and locked eyes with Kai across the room.
His smile had faded.
He pressed his lips together and gave her the tiniest shake of his head. "Not now. Don't let them see. Not here."
Then Kei's gaze met hers. No words. No gestures.
Just a quiet steadiness, as if silently reminding her: "You don't have to explain anything. Just breathe."
Ayaka swallowed hard and forced the storm inside her heart to retreat.
She raised her chin.
"Akihiko…" she said softly, her voice almost cracking.
She paused for a bit longer—then forced a smile.
"…was just a figment of my imagination."
There was a flicker of disappointment in the crowd. Murmurs.
A few surprised glances between fans.
The interviewer blinked, caught off guard by the answer's simplicity, but quickly recovered with a gracious nod.
"Ah, I see. Well, he was incredibly well-written for a figment."
Ayaka gave a short laugh, hollow at the edges. "Writers tend to fall in love with their own illusions."
She kept her smile in place through the remainder of the interview, answering questions about future projects, her writing rituals, and even a brief mention of her childhood.
But beneath the poised surface, her emotions churned like a rising tide—threatening to break.
By the time the interviewer wrapped up with a final congratulations and a round of applause echoed through the hall, Ayaka's vision was already blurring around the edges.
She stood, bowed gracefully, and exited the stage to a sea of clapping hands and camera flashes.
Backstage, she stepped off the platform with practiced calm—only for her legs to falter slightly.
Kai was there in an instant, steadying her with a hand on her back. "You did great!" he said softly.
"I lied." she whispered, her voice shaking.
"I know." he replied gently. "But it's okay."
Kei stood beside them, silent as always. He didn't say anything—but he placed a hand on her shoulder, grounding and solid.
And for the first time that day, Ayaka allowed herself to close her eyes.
She hadn't cried. She hadn't broken.
But she wasn't okay.
Not yet.
Not without him.