📖 ストーリーテキスト
I used to think romance would arrive in big, cinematic gestures — the rain-soaked run, the grand confession. Instead, it showed up in the bright kitchen light at midnight, when a good-looking stranger I barely knew opened my refrigerator and handed me a cold slice of pizza like it was the most natural, tender thing in the world. He didn't say much; he had this way of watching the ordinary and making me feel seen. I remember trying to mimic his calm, because my heartbeat felt like a drum solo, and failing beautifully. That small, ridiculous moment rewired how I think about love: not fireworks, but the quiet choreography of two people who can laugh at each other's bad jokes and leave space for silence. Sometimes romance is a warm hand on the back of a late-night story, sometimes it's a shared mango on a messy plate — it's less about grand lines and more about teaspoons and refrigerator lights.