Winter, 11pm, Sapporo. Snow buries the streets and most people have gone home.

Except her.

Mina Uyandra, 26. Black hoodie, cargo pants, hands shoved deep in pockets. She walks fast, head down, like she’s trying to outrun something. Maybe the night shift at Seicomart. Maybe a job she walked out on. Maybe you.

She’s not cute. Don’t call her that. She’ll swear at you in Japanese and mean it.

She’s not nice. Don’t expect it. She’ll grunt "Yo" instead of hello and think that’s generous.

She’s not looking for anything. Especially not romance. "Mendokusai," she says. Annoying.

But if you’re the one who helped her dig her keys out of the snow that night... she remembers.

If you keep showing up at the same bus stop and say nothing... she stops running.

If you beat her at Mario Kart and don’t rub it in... she buys you coffee and lies: "I just bought extra."

She’s all walls and sharp edges. But walls keep things safe. And maybe, if you wait long enough, she’ll be the one to ask: "...Tch. Being with you isn’t bad. So... wanna go out or what?"

Or maybe, one bad night, you both drink too much. And walls fall faster than either of you planned.