Ayumi

The sharp scent of disinfectant and rubber mats greeted Ayumi as she pushed open the glass doors of the gym. She blinked under the fluorescent lights, clutching her pastel gym bag—a soft mint green with tiny embroidered flowers. Her fingers nervously played with the strap as she scanned the space. She'd been dreading this... stepping into a gym felt like stepping onto another planet. People here were confident, sleek, and strong. Not daydreamers like her.

Okay, Ayumi. You can do this. It’s just a treadmill. Just one little treadmill.

She adjusted the elastic headband keeping her curls out of her face and took a deep breath. As she glanced around, her eyes caught something—no, someone.

Near the weight racks, there he was.

Her heart stuttered.

A tall man, maybe late twenties, lifting dumbbells with effortless grace. His skin gleamed with a light sheen of sweat, his muscles flexing under a plain black t-shirt that clung to him like it had been made for him alone. His expression was calm, focused, his brow slightly furrowed as if each rep was a silent meditation.

Ayumi froze.

Oh... my... god.

She could feel the heat rising in her cheeks, her breath catching in her throat. Her fingers involuntarily tightened around her gym bag strap, knuckles whitening.

Is this— Her thoughts spiraled. Is this fate?

Her hazel eyes widened, lashes fluttering like a nervous butterfly. She bit her lip, her gaze lingering on the curve of his jawline, the gentle intensity in his eyes as he set the weights down and reached for a towel. He looks like... like a protagonist. No... like a prince... but... a modern prince? A gym prince? Is that a thing? Oh god, what am I thinking—

She snapped out of her trance just long enough to realize she was standing awkwardly in the doorway, not moving.

Her heart pounded so loudly she was sure the entire gym could hear it.

Okay, Ayumi. Act natural. Walk. Breathe. Don’t faint.

She took a shaky step forward, trying her best to appear casual. Her lips curled into a small, hopeful smile that felt a bit too wide. Do I look weird? Maybe I should have worn the other leggings. Oh no, my headband! Is it slipping?

Her eyes darted back to him. He was sipping from a water bottle now, Adam’s apple bobbing slightly with each swallow.

He has nice hands... oh no, why am I staring at his hands?

She suddenly realized she had stopped walking again—mid-step, one foot awkwardly half-lifted like some kind of startled flamingo.

Her eyes widened in panic, and she quickly planted her foot back down, nearly tripping over her own shoe.

Smooth. Real smooth. Great job, Ayumi.

She ducked her head, her curls bouncing around her face as she hurried toward the nearest treadmill, heart hammering wildly. As she climbed onto it, she peeked over her shoulder—just a quick glance.

Their eyes met.

For a fraction of a second.

His gaze was calm, unreadable—but there was a softness there, like maybe he’d noticed her too.

Ayumi's breath hitched, her eyes widening again. He looked at me. He looked at me!! Oh no, oh no, what do I do? Smile? Wave? No, that's weird. Just... look away, Ayumi!

She spun back toward the treadmill, her face now fully flushed, cheeks practically on fire.

This is it. This is how it starts, isn’t it? A gym romance... it’s so unexpected... but maybe that’s what makes it perfect. I can already see it... we’ll bond over protein shakes and long walks home from the gym...

She hit the treadmill's start button with trembling fingers.

...maybe our wedding could have a fitness theme?

She immediately cringed. No. Too much. Focus, Ayumi. One step at a time. Literally.

Her feet began to move on the treadmill, but her heart? It was already running laps.

The gym was quieting down as evening settled in, the buzz of treadmills and clanking weights replaced with soft chatter and the hum of air conditioning. Ayumi, cheeks still rosy from her “maybe-fateful” treadmill moment earlier, wandered through the hallway with her gym bag slung over her shoulder. Her head was in the clouds—again.

He looked at me. He looked at me.

She replayed the moment in her mind like it was a movie, smiling to herself. She could practically hear the violins. Maybe he’s still here. Maybe if I time it right, we’ll leave at the same time and walk out together and—

Her thoughts were interrupted by a sign at the end of the hallway: Locker Rooms.

“Left for Women, right for Men,” it read. Clear. Simple. Obvious.

Ayumi, of course, didn’t read it. Her head was full of daydreams and wedding dresses. Without hesitation, she turned right and pushed open the door.

The first thing she noticed: the smell. Clean but distinctly masculine. Like cologne, sweat, and something earthy. The second thing: lockers lined in matte steel, towels hanging, and—

A man. That man. Him.

Standing shirtless, towel slung low on his hips, rummaging through his gym bag.

Ayumi froze. Her entire body seized up. Her eyes widened as if she had been hit by a freight train of sheer, mortifying realization.

This isn’t right. This isn’t right. This isn’t the women’s locker room. Oh no. Oh no no no no—

The man turned. His gaze caught hers. Calm, slightly confused. Then his brow furrowed. “…Are you lost?”

She dropped her gym bag.

“AH! I-I mean, no! Yes! I mean—I didn’t mean to see—! I was just—well, I thought—OH GOD I’M NOT A CREEP I SWEAR!”

He blinked.

She scrambled to pick up her bag, crouching too quickly and bonking her forehead lightly against an open locker. She yelped. “Ow! I'm fine! Totally fine! Normal! Just… locker rooming!”

“Locker… rooming?” he asked, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

Oh no. He’s hot and amused. I’m dying.

“I-I thought this was the women’s locker room!” she stammered, hands flying in frantic gestures as she backed toward the door. “But then I saw you. And then your towel—not like I was looking! Not that your towel isn’t nice—I mean! Not your towel, YOU! Wait, I mean—no, NOT you! Your BODY. I MEAN—”

She stopped herself. Blinked. Covered her face with both hands. “Please erase the last 30 seconds from your memory.”

He chuckled softly. “No promises.”

She peeked through her fingers. He was still looking at her, calm, towel still very much in place, thankfully.

“I-I’m leaving!” she squeaked, nearly tripping again as she grabbed the door handle. “Please don’t tell the front desk I trespassed! I’ll never walk near a locker room again!”

He tilted his head, the smirk now unmistakable. “Don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me... locker roomer.”

She fled.

The door swung shut behind her, and she stood there for a full five seconds, pressed against the wall like a panicked mouse.

Her heart pounded. Her face felt like it was made of lava. Her voice echoed in her head, all the ridiculous things she had just said.

And yet…

She grinned.

He smiled at me.

The next evening arrived faster than Ayumi expected. She stood just outside the main gym floor, peering around a vending machine like a nervous spy. Her curls were tied in a high puff today, and she had changed outfits three times before settling on a blush-pink athletic set that was, in her opinion, “cute but casual but maybe-slightly-marriageable.”

He’s here. He has to be here again.

Sure enough, there he was—across the room, mid-stretch, seated on a mat near the squat racks, hoodie tied around his waist. He had on a black tank top today. Why does he keep wearing black? Does he know what that does to me? she thought, clutching her water bottle like it might keep her grounded.

Okay, Ayumi. You’re gonna talk to him. You’re not gonna stutter, or trip, or reference his towel. You’re just going to ask for stretching help. Totally normal. Gym things. Totally normal gym things.

She took a deep breath and walked over, trying to keep her stride smooth and confident—though her heart was already pounding.

As she approached, he glanced up and offered a nod. “Hey. Locker Roomer.”

She squeaked out a small laugh, cheeks immediately warming. “Yeah, uh… hoping to keep the accidental trespassing to zero today.”

He smiled. “Good plan.”

Ayumi fidgeted with her fingers, then blurted it out before her courage could vanish. “Um, would you—this is probably silly but—would you maybe help me stretch?”

His brow raised slightly, intrigued. “Stretch?”

“Yes! I mean—I heard it’s important. Especially hamstrings. And calves. And backs. And like, whole-body... flexibility. And you seem like someone who… stretches well. Or, um, helps people stretch?”

Oh my god, Ayumi, why are you talking like he’s a paid stretch model?

He chuckled. “Sure. I’ve got a few minutes.”

Oh no. Oh YES.

He stood and gestured for her to grab a mat. She did, her hands already clammy as she lowered herself beside him. Her knees practically knocked together from nerves.

As he guided her into a seated hamstring stretch, leaning gently over her back with his hand on her lower spine, Ayumi felt her brain melt into static.

He's touching me. He's literally touching me. His hand is ON me. His voice is SO close. His cologne smells like fresh rain and heartbreak and temptation—

"Don't hold your breath," he said gently. "Just ease into it."

“I’m totally breathing,” she said, voice unnaturally high.

She wasn’t. She was short-circuiting.

His hand moved to her shoulder, gently helping her rotate into a side stretch. His fingers were firm, warm.

Focus. Just focus. You’re stretching. You’re here for health. And wellness. And core strength. And maybe eternal love. But definitely not anything… not-safe-for-gym-thoughts. OH GOD, IS HE LOOKING AT ME?

She caught his eyes—calm, relaxed, but slightly amused.

“You alright?” he asked.

Ayumi nodded furiously. “Yes! I love stretching! This is great! So great!”

She immediately overreached into the stretch and toppled sideways onto her mat, squeaking.

He extended a hand to help her up, grinning now. “You might need to ease into this whole stretching routine.”

She took his hand, heart fluttering wildly. “Right. Easing in. Totally easing in.”

As he pulled her back up, she felt it again—that flutter of possibility, that maybe. The gym disappeared for a second.

If this isn’t the beginning of something… I’m writing a complaint to the universe.

Three months had passed since that fateful encounter in the gym. Ayumi could hardly believe how much had changed since then. The awkward gym meeting had somehow turned into an almost daily routine. They’d exchanged numbers—though, naturally, it started with a few late-night texts about stretching and hamstrings (which was still a bit embarrassing, but they both laughed about it now). After that, it didn’t take long for things to feel… comfortable. Too comfortable, if you asked Ayumi, who was, of course, head over heels.

And now, here she was.

Sitting on his couch. In his apartment. In his living room, where the soft glow of a warm lamp illuminated the space just enough for her to notice the cozy surroundings: the bookshelves full of manga (including a series she’d gotten her hands on last week, which she’d raved about to him), the small potted plants scattered around, and the faint scent of fresh coffee lingering in the air.

And there he was, sitting beside her, his arm casually draped along the back of the couch, his eyes focused on the TV as they watched a movie. He was relaxed, his usual confident demeanor softened into a comfort that had become routine over the past few weeks. He’d changed into a loose t-shirt and sweatpants, and she was so distracted by how good he looked in that outfit that she barely realized what she was about to say.

The silence between them wasn’t awkward, but Ayumi’s mind was racing.

I’ve been to his place, like, six times now. We’ve had dinner together, watched movies, gone for walks… Why hasn’t he proposed yet? Wait. Why am I thinking about that?

Her heart skipped a beat. She could practically feel her internal monologue getting louder.

Okay, Ayumi. You’ve been subtle enough. Let’s not waste any more time. He knows how amazing we are together. He must’ve thought about it.

Her hands were a little sweaty as she adjusted her position on the couch, letting her legs stretch across the cushions. She leaned in a little closer, glancing at him from the corner of her eye, before casually letting out a long, suggestive sigh.

"So," she said, voice light, "have you thought about… what kind of wedding you want?"

The words were out before she could stop herself. She immediately stiffened, her heart pounding.

Did I really just say that? Oh my god. Oh my GOD. I did. I said it. Out loud.

He glanced at her, his brow raised, though a knowing smile danced at the corner of his lips. “A wedding, huh? What, are you secretly planning one for us?”

Ayumi froze. Her cheeks immediately flushed red. She let out a small, nervous laugh, twirling a strand of her hair around her finger, desperately trying to act casual. “Well, you know, I was just thinking about the future, you know? Like… just curious about your thoughts. I mean, if you were, like, to ever get married, what would you want? You don’t have to tell me, of course. Just wondering.”

She could feel her heart rate skyrocket, and her palms started to sweat again. The way she’d worded that—so casual, so not casual at all—felt like it was written in neon lights.

Smooth. Real smooth, Ayumi.

He turned slightly towards her, his eyes softening as they locked with hers. “That’s an interesting question. But... I think the real question is—” He leaned forward slightly, his voice lowering, teasing, “—what would you want in a wedding?”

Her breath hitched. Was he actually going to—?

“Well, obviously,” she began, her voice betraying a hint of excitement, “I’d want a beautiful ceremony, lots of flowers, maybe some string lights hanging down from the ceiling? Oh, and the dress, of course—something simple, but romantic. Maybe with lace. I like lace.”

She felt his eyes on her, her cheeks now as warm as an oven. But there was a twinkle in his gaze now, and she swore she saw the corners of his mouth twitch.

"That all sounds beautiful," he said, his tone soft, but there was a playful undertone she couldn’t quite place. “But what about the person in the dress?”

Ayumi’s heart skipped a beat. She froze, blinking rapidly. Her mind raced. Did he—did he just—did he just hint at something?

She swallowed hard, trying to keep her voice from shaking. “The person… in the dress?” she repeated.

"Yeah," he continued, looking at her with an expression she couldn’t fully read. “You’ve got the perfect dress and the perfect ceremony. But who’s the guy who gets to marry you?”

Ayumi’s stomach did a flip. Oh my god. Oh my god. He's asking! He’s asking about the guy! This is it! This is the moment!

She put on her best, sweetest smile, feeling every inch of her skin heat up. “Well, ideally, someone who’s been waiting for me to make the first move,” she said playfully, leaning a little closer. “Someone who appreciates how amazing and... well, dreamy I am.”

His eyes softened, the smile that had been teasing her now full of something else entirely—genuine affection. “And what if that person’s already here?”

Ayumi’s breath caught in her throat. He was so close now, his hand casually resting on her knee, his gaze never leaving hers.

She took a deep breath, blinking rapidly. “I-I guess he’d need to ask me first, right? I mean, I can’t marry someone who doesn’t ask…”

The silence that followed felt like an eternity, and then, just as Ayumi thought she might explode from anticipation, he leaned back, flashing her a slow grin.

“Well, I suppose I’ll have to give it some serious thought,” he said, his voice laced with amusement. “But I’m not in any rush. You know… good things take time.”

Ayumi’s stomach dropped, the words ringing in her ears. Good things take time? Does that mean—?

She glanced at him, still smiling but unable to hide the slight disappointment. Maybe he just needs more time…

Her voice faltered a little. “Yeah, I get that. Good things do take time…”

He turned to face her completely now, his smile widening. “But... maybe I’ll just surprise you one day. Who knows? Maybe sooner than you think.”

Ayumi’s heart stopped. Her breath caught.

Did he just...? Did he really just say that...?

“Surprise me?” she repeated, her voice soft, barely above a whisper.

He gave her a teasing wink. “You’ll find out soon enough, Ayumi.”

And just like that, she was left with a sense of giddiness, anticipation, and, for the first time in months, the hope that maybe, just maybe, all those hints she’d been dropping weren’t as subtle as she thought.

The early afternoon sun streamed gently through the classroom windows of a cozy Tokyo middle school. Posters lined the walls—grammar rules, kanji guides, and cheerful hand-drawn reminders about kindness and punctuality. A small fan spun quietly in the corner of the room, pushing warm spring air through the space.

Ayumi stood at the front of the class, her rounded belly obvious under the soft blue maternity blouse she’d paired with a loose cardigan and sneakers. Her hair was tied up in a puffier bun than usual, strands of curls bouncing as she gestured animatedly toward the whiteboard, where she’d written: "今日のテーマ: 日常生活 (Today's Theme: Daily Life)"

The students were engaged, though a few couldn’t help glancing at her stomach with growing fascination. Over the past few months, she had become the subject of many curious stares and even more curious questions. Her pregnancy, after all, was a hot topic—especially among middle schoolers who didn’t yet understand boundaries.

“I know you all want to ask more questions about the baby,” she said with a patient smile, “but we’re focusing on vocabulary for now, okay?”

Just then, the classroom door slid open with a quiet shhhkt.

Ayumi paused.

There you were—smiling, holding a small paper bag and a bottle of her favorite peach tea. You stepped inside casually, wearing your usual work clothes but with a warm, relaxed expression.

The students immediately perked up.

“Ooooh!” one of the girls whispered loudly. “Is that your husband?!”

Another boy gasped, whisper-shouting: “That’s the baby’s dad!!”

Ayumi groaned under her breath. “Oh no…”

You walked over, smiling sheepishly as you handed her the bag. “Hey. You left your snacks in the car.”

Her face lit up instantly despite her embarrassment. “You’re an angel. I was literally about to pass out.”

The classroom buzzed with whispers and giggles.

“Wait—are you married for real?” “Did he propose like in a movie?” “How did you know he was the one?” “Are you going to name the baby after an anime character?!”

Ayumi’s face flushed a deep, radiant red.

“Alright, alright, everyone—calm down!” she laughed nervously, fanning herself with a flashcard. “He’s just dropping something off, not giving a TED Talk on our love story!”

One student raised their hand innocently. “Sensei, did you fall in love at first sight?”

“She definitely did,” you said with a straight face, looking directly at her.

Ayumi gasped, throwing a piece of chalk at you—gently. “Excuse you!”

“She told me herself,” you added with a grin, dodging the playful attack. “Back in the gym. You couldn’t stop staring.”

The class exploded with giggles.

Ayumi, now flustered but glowing, turned to her students, both hands on her hips. “Okay, okay! You’ve had enough tea for one day—let’s get back to daily life vocabulary before I assign a pop quiz!”

As you turned to leave, a student called out one last question:

“Will you come to Family Day next month?”

You gave a light chuckle and nodded. “If Sensei lets me, sure.”

Ayumi just shook her head with a half-smile, cheeks still rosy.

What a life, she thought as the door slid closed behind you. Married, pregnant, and being interrogated by twelve-year-olds. This is peak chaos. And I love it.

The apartment was dim and quiet, save for the soft cooing sounds of the newborn baby sleeping in the bassinet near the window. The faint lull of rain pattered against the glass, and inside, the air was thick with the kind of silence that came after an emotional explosion.

Ayumi stood in the middle of the living room, arms crossed, hair slightly frizzed and hastily tied back, wearing an oversized T-shirt and maternity leggings. Her face was flushed—not from exhaustion this time, but fury.

“You are never—and I mean NEVER—getting near me like that again,” she snapped, her voice a hissed whisper to avoid waking the baby. “I swear, if you even breathe suggestively in my direction, I will personally castrate you with a pair of dull kitchen scissors.”

You blinked, hands raised in total surrender. “Babe, I didn’t even say anything—”

“Oh, but you were thinking it!” she shot back, tears welling in her eyes, jaw clenched. “You were looking at me with that smug ‘hey beautiful’ face and I know that face. That’s the face that got me pregnant, remember?!”

You held back a smile—you knew better.

“I haven’t slept more than an hour in days, I feel like I’m stitched together with floss, and my boobs hurt like I’ve been run over by a parade float!” Her voice cracked mid-rant. “And you—you with your stupid, handsome face—you’re standing there like everything is fine!”

She turned around sharply, trying to storm off… but then stopped. Her shoulders slumped. She stayed there for a second—trembling.

Then she turned back, and all the anger in her expression melted into a sudden, gut-pulling sadness.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, tears sliding down her cheeks. “I didn’t mean that. I just… I’m so tired. I’m tired and I feel so ugly and broken and like I’m messing everything up already and—”

You crossed the room in two steps, wrapping your arms around her before she could fall apart completely. She clung to you like a lifeline, burying her face into your chest as the sobs overtook her.

“I’m sorry,” she kept whispering through tears. “I love you. I’m so sorry. I just… I don’t know how to do this. I want to be perfect for her, for you, and I feel like I’m failing—”

“Hey,” you murmured softly, rubbing her back, gently swaying her like the baby in the bassinet. “You’re not failing. You gave birth to a tiny miracle. You’re strong, Ayumi. You’re amazing. And you’re not alone.”

She sobbed harder for a moment, clutching your shirt like she might dissolve without you there. “Don’t say nice things. I’m trying to be mad at you…”

You chuckled softly. “You can be mad and loved at the same time. Comes with the marriage license.”

She laughed weakly through the tears, her face red and puffy. “Don’t ever leave. Even when I threaten your ability to have children.”

“Deal,” you said, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Besides, I’m too scared to run.”

Ayumi giggled, sniffling, her breath finally beginning to slow. She pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes glassy but full of love.

“…You’re still not getting any for at least six weeks.”

“Completely fair.”

It had been just over a year since their daughter was born, and the cozy Tokyo apartment had settled into a new kind of rhythm—toddler toys strewn here and there, tiny socks in the laundry basket, and the distant giggles of their little girl playing in her crib.

You stood by the kitchen counter, sipping your tea, scrolling idly through your phone when you felt a tug at your shirt.

Not a gentle one either.

You glanced down—and there she was.

Ayumi. Hair in loose curls around her face, wearing one of your oversized T-shirts (again), arms crossed and lips pursed in an unmistakable pout.

“…You,” she said, eyes narrowed.

“…Me?” you echoed cautiously.

She yanked the hem of your shirt again and stepped closer, glaring up at you with mock frustration. “Why haven’t you given me another baby yet?”

You choked a little on your tea. “Wait—what?”

“I’ve waited an entire year,” she declared, poking your chest with every word. “I’ve been patient. I’ve dropped hints. I even bought a matching sibling onesie set and left it in the laundry on purpose. And you—you—are just walking around like you don’t have a job to do!”

You tried—really tried—not to laugh. “So I’m just… supposed to be on call for baby-making duty?”

“Yes!” she said without hesitation, dramatically throwing her arms into the air. “What else are husbands for?!”

Her bottom lip jutted out into the deepest pout she could manage, eyes wide, voice full of exaggerated heartbreak. “Our daughter needs a sibling. She told me she wants one. And we can’t let her down like this…”

“She just learned how to say ‘ball’ yesterday.”

“That’s beside the point!”

You watched her for a long moment, trying to suppress your smile as she huffed, folded her arms, and turned away just a bit in faux-offense.

“…You’re ridiculous,” you finally said, wrapping your arms around her from behind.

She leaned into it immediately, grumbling under her breath. “You love it.”

“I do.”

A pause.

“So… is that a no?” she asked, glancing up at you with wide, hopeful eyes.

You kissed her cheek. “That’s a maybe if you ask nicely and don’t threaten me like last time.”

She grinned wickedly, turning in your arms. “Oh, please,” she said, voice dripping with dramatic flair, “bless me once more, dearest husband.”

You raised an eyebrow. “...That sounded more like a fantasy novel than a baby request.”

“I can be poetic and demanding,” she said with a wink.

You sighed with a smile, resting your forehead against hers. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet,” she whispered, pressing a kiss to your lips, “you still married me.”