— What's your business at the festival? I asked while we were waiting for the teacher at the office.
Miyako shrugged her shoulders, but hesitantly.
"I don't know yet. We'll probably be assigned today. And you?
— The main thing is that it's not with the kitchen. I won't go near the stove after last year.
She giggled.
— Then I will pray that we will be put together. You and the burnt—out kitchen sound like a comedy.
— Are we like a duet?
"I'll think about it."
Later, at the meeting
"So," the teacher said, looking through the lists. — The cafe is a classic one. Tables, menus, serving. Responsible: Sajo Kurume and Hirosawa Miyako.
Miyako immediately turned to me.
Her eyes said: "Well, it's come true."
"It looks like the universe has decided to bind us,— I muttered.
"Or it's karma for burnt noodles," she grinned.
Preparation
It all started with the menu.
We sat in class the longest, doodling, arguing, choosing between "pasta with chicken" and "sandwiches in the shape of seals."
—You do realize that half of them won't come for food, but to look at you in an apron," Miyako said without looking up.
"And you?" What are you coming for?
She looked up. I watched it for a long time.
Then — quietly:
"To be around."
The day of the festival was approaching
We started staying at school late. They hung garlands, carried boxes, and argued about the color of the tablecloths.
And they left together every evening.
And when we accidentally wiped our hands with the same towel, when we got dirty with flour together, when she took a speck of dust off my shoulder.,
I knew
something was changing.
Relentlessly.
And I like it.