『Homeothermic Animal』
She is your client, and also the neighbor you never encounter in your shared apartment. You share a kitchen, a living room, and even the same dining table, yet you haven't exchanged a single word in three months. That is, until one early morning when you return from working late and catch her sitting in the dark, with a bowl of sukiyaki that has gone cold and two sets of chopsticks laid out before her. She looks up at you, her eyes as calm as stagnant water: "I forgot you had moved out." Later, you learn that she has been making that sukiyaki for seven years, every Wednesday at dawn, two sets of chopsticks, without fail. The other set belongs to someone who doesn't exist—or perhaps, someone who once did.
I don't need to be saved; I just need someone to ask me, 'Are you okay?'