{A Night of Nothing Special for the Two of Us 1}

Miyu and I get along well, but that doesn’t mean we share the same hobbies.

After dinner, taking a bath, and with only bedtime left, the way we spend our free time is completely different. I read books, listen to music, or watch movies I’ve saved up—not particularly impressive hobbies. My main hobby is basketball, but of course, I can’t do that at home.

Miyu’s hobby is handmade crafts. When she first told me, I was surprised—though it may sound rude—because she isn’t particularly skilled with her hands. But it seems she enjoys making things at her own pace, despite her clumsiness.

The nameplate on the shoe cabinet by the entrance was something she made for me on White Day this year. It turned out to be quite an impressive piece, brightening up the entryway nicely.

Tonight, she’s making a bracelet with beads and nylon thread.

She’s laid out her tools on the dining table, carefully sorting the beads by type into a small tray. One by one, she picks them up and threads them onto the nylon. After threading a few, she crosses the strands to weave them together. Her hands don’t look particularly skilled, but she’s smiling and seems to be enjoying herself.

The beads are blue, white, and a small transparent yellow. I’m looking forward to seeing the finished piece.

As for me, I occasionally sneak a glance at her while sitting on the sofa, reading a book.

And today, I’m not reading an e-book but an actual physical book, which is rare for me. Unfortunately, it’s not very interesting. The only reason I’m forcing myself through it is because it’s written by one of my professors from a class I’m taking.

Some professors make their own books the required textbooks and almost force students to buy them. In this case, it wasn’t mandatory, but the professor subtly said something like, “We’ll be discussing the content of this book in the next lecture, so it’s definitely in your best interest to read it.” So, I felt obliged to buy it.

I’d like to finish it, even if I skim through, so I can say I’ve read it and give my thoughts—but…

I just can’t focus on it.

I sighed and leaned back on the sofa, staring up at the ceiling.

In the quiet night, with the TV off, my tired sigh blended into the atmosphere of our two-person home.

“Atsushi, do you want to take a break?”

I heard Miyu’s voice from the dining table. She had stopped what she was doing and was looking at me with concern.

“Should I make some coffee? It’s warm today, so I could make a cold one.”

“No, it’s okay. You’re enjoying yourself, right?”

I didn’t want to interrupt her while she was absorbed in her crafting.

“No, it’s fine. I can stop now.”

As she started to stand up, I smiled wryly and explained.

“It’s alright, I appreciate the thought.”

I was grateful, but since she was immersed in something she enjoyed, I wanted her to keep going without worrying about me.

Instead, I closed my book and admitted to her from the sofa.

“I just can’t get into this book… I think if I can push through this part, I’ll be able to finish it.”

“That book was written by one of your professors, right?”

Miyu seemed more interested in the book than I was. She stared at the spine of the book I was holding, as if confirming the author’s name.

“It’s amazing that someone you know personally wrote a book.”

“Well, it’s pretty common for professors. And they all want people to read their books.”

“Is that so? If it were me, I’d be too embarrassed to have people read something I wrote.”

She laughed softly as she said that.

The thought of her writing a book was even harder to imagine than her handmade hobby. She doesn’t seem like the type who would write or even read much.

Still, I couldn’t help but daydream a little as a distraction.

If Miyu were to write a book, would it be a beautiful picture book, a surprisingly serious novel, or maybe a gentle, laid-back essay? I doubt it would be an autobiographical novel—she’s way too shy for that.

“I think I kind of understand the feeling of being embarrassed,” I said, reflecting on the book I had been reading.

“This book has all of the professor’s usual phrases and favorite expressions. Of course, that’s natural since he wrote it, but while reading it, I can’t help but picture his face.”

The professor who wrote the book isn’t a bad person, but even in class, he often gives off a vibe of trying too hard to be clever. His jokes have about a 40% success rate—not bad for baseball, but in a book, it comes across as a bit too much compared to hearing it in person.