Tokyo Ghoul: You're a ghoul!? What am I supposed to do now???

"So? Did you dream about him?"

I slammed my textbook shut, glaring at Yoriko across the classroom. "It's 7 AM. How do you have this much energy?"

"I've been thinking about Saturday all weekend!" She slid into the seat next to mine, eyes sparkling with mischief. "You two were so cute, avoiding eye contact but stealing glances. Like a shoujo manga!"

"Nothing happened. He's just a customer."

"A customer you mentioned three times last week. A customer whose art explanations you actually cared about. A customer who actually made you smile... should I count more?" She said with a smirk.

"I smile at lots of people."

"No, you don't."

Our classmate Hina leaned over from the desk in front. "Wait, Touka smiled at someone? Who?"

"No one," I said quickly.

"The handsome art student who comes to her coffee shop!" Yoriko announced. "Black hair, tall, has this quiet mysterious vibe—"

"Yoriko, I will end you."

"He sounds nice," Hina said. "Is he from Kamii University?"

"Can we please talk about literally anything else?" I pulled out my literature notes. "Like this test we have in twenty minutes?"

"Tests are temporary. Love is forever!" Yoriko clutched her chest dramatically.

I focused on my notes, ignoring her continued teasing. But focusing was harder than usual. kept thinking about Saturday—how Sota had laughed when I threw the cleaning cloth at him, the way our fingers had touched when he handed it back.

Just a customer.

Who came in every day.

Who actually listened when I talked about books.

Who had really nice hands when he drew—

"Touka-chan, you're blushing!" Yoriko poked my cheek.

"I'm not. It's hot in here."

The test was a disaster. Every question about metaphors in modern literature somehow reminded me of Saturday. "The author uses coffee as a symbol of connection"—yeah, thanks for that, brain.

By lunch, Yoriko had recruited half our small friend group into her matchmaking schemes.

"We could all go to Anteiku together!" she suggested while I tried to eat my bento in peace. "Casual group hangout. You can introduce us to your artist."

"He's not my anything."

"Yet." She stole one of my octopus sausages. "Come on, Touka. When was the last time you showed interest in anyone?"

Never. The answer was never, because getting close to humans when you were a ghoul was asking for disaster. But I couldn't exactly explain them that.

"I'm focused on the upcoming entrance exams," I said instead.

"You can always focus on exams and have a crush. It's called multitasking!" Yoriko pulled out her phone. "I should look up the art department at Kamii. See what kind of program he's in."

"Do not stalk customers."

"It's not stalking, it's research. There's a difference."

I escaped to the library for the rest of lunch, but even surrounded by books, my concentration was shot. Kept remembering how he'd asked about stress-baking with that small smile. How he'd said my name—just "Touka," not "Kirishima-san" like most customers.

The walk to Anteiku after school felt longer than usual. My stomach did this weird fluttery thing that had nothing to do with hunger. What if he didn't come today? What if he did? What if Saturday's weirdness made him find a different coffee shop?

"You're early," Manager observed as I entered through the back door.

"Didn't have cleanup duty today." I tied on my apron, checking my reflection in the storage room mirror. Same face as always. Maybe a little nervous around the eyes.

"Are you feeling alright? You seem distracted."

"I'm fine. Just thinking about exams."

His expression said he didn't quite believe me, but he let it go. Manager was good about not pushing.

The afternoon shift started slow. A few regulars, an elderly couple, students from other universities. I served them on autopilot, half my attention on the door.

3:15 came and went.

3:30.

Maybe he wasn't coming. Maybe Yoriko had scared him off with her complete lack of boundaries. Maybe—

The bell chimed.

But it wasn't just Sota. Three other students followed him in, chattering about some assignment. My stomach did a completely different kind of flip.

"Table for four?" I asked, voice steady despite the weird disappointment.

"If that's okay." He met my eyes briefly, then looked away. "These are my classmates. Guys, this is the place I mentioned."

They took a middle table—not his usual corner. I brought water and menus, professional smile fixed in place.

"Sota wasn't kidding about the atmosphere," one of them said. "This is way better than the campus coffee shop."

"And quieter," a girl added. "Perfect for group work."

I took their orders—various coffees, some pastries. Sota ordered his usual, which made something warm flutter in my chest. Stupid. It was just coffee.

While I prepared their drinks, I watched them from the corner of my eye. He looked comfortable with his classmates, contributing to their discussion about perspective in Renaissance art. But every so often, his gaze drifted toward the counter.

"Here you go." I distributed their orders carefully. "Let me know if you need anything else."

"Thanks, Touka," Sota said.

His classmates exchanged quick glances. Right. First-name basis probably seemed odd for a customer and waitress.

I retreated to the counter, busying myself with unnecessary cleaning. Their conversation flowed around art history, someone complaining about Professor Tanaka, normal student stuff. Sota laughed at something one of them said, and I definitely didn't notice how it lit up his face.

They stayed about an hour before the others started packing up.

"I'm gonna stay and finish this sketch," Sota said. "See you guys Wednesday."

"Sure you don't want to come to the library?" the girl asked.

"Too noisy. I'll catch up later."

They filed out with waves and promises to share notes. The shop felt quieter in their wake. Sota moved to his usual corner table, pulling out his sketchbook.

"Your friends seem nice," I said, bringing him a coffee refill he hadn't asked for.

"They're good people. Sorry for the invasion. They insisted on seeing where I disappear to every afternoon."

"It's fine. We like customers." I hesitated, then added, "Though you did look a little overwhelmed."

"Groups are exhausting. I prefer..." He gestured at the quiet shop. "This."

"Antisocial artist stereotype?"

"Something like that." He looked up at me. "How was your day? Yoriko didn't give you too much grief about Saturday?"

My face heated. "She's impossible. Spent all day planning ways to accidentally run into you around campus."

"Should I be worried?"

"Probably. She's very determined when she gets an idea." I shifted the coffee pot between hands. "I really am sorry about her ambush. She means well, but—"

"Touka." The way he said my name made me stop. "It's okay. She obviously cares about you. Even if her methods are... intense."

"That's one word for it."

"Besides," he continued, focusing on his sketch, "she wasn't wrong about everything."

My heart did something acrobatic. "What do you mean?"

"Just that this is a good coffee shop. And the afternoon waitress is really nice to talk to." He kept drawing, but I caught a slight smile. "Even if she does throw cleaning cloths at paying customers."

"You caught it. No harm done."

"That's just because my reflexes are decent."

We fell into our usual rhythm after that. Him sketching, me serving the few other customers, occasional comments about art or books or nothing important. But there was something different now—an awareness that hadn't been there before. When our eyes met, we both looked away faster. When I refilled his coffee, I was careful not to let our hands touch.

"I should tell Yoriko her matchmaking failed," I said as evening approached. "Get her to back off."

"Did it fail?" He glanced up from his drawing.

"I... what?"

"Nothing. Never mind." He started packing up. "Same time tomorrow?"

"I work the afternoon shift all week."

"Then same time tomorrow."

He left exact change on the table and headed out. Through the window, I watched him pause on the sidewalk, run a hand through his hair, then walk away.

"Interesting young man," Manager commented, appearing with his usual quiet timing.

"He's a good customer," I said automatically.

"Indeed." Manager's smile held too much knowing. "Perhaps you should take your break now. You've been working hard."

I escaped to the back room, sitting on a crate of coffee beans. My phone had twelve messages from Yoriko demanding updates.

Nothing happened, I typed. He came with friends. Stop scheming.

Her response was immediate: But did you talk after?? Did he mention Saturday?? Tell me EVERYTHING

I stared at the screen, remembering how he'd said Yoriko wasn't wrong about everything. What did that mean? How was I supposed to figure it out?

Being a ghoul was so much simpler than whatever this was. At least with hunting, you knew the rules. With humans—this specific human—I was utterly lost.

We talked normally, I sent back. Stop reading into things.

You like him, she replied. And he likes you. I'm never wrong about these things.

I pocketed my phone without responding. Yoriko might be right, but that didn't make it less complicated. A human art student and a ghoul waitress wasn't exactly a fairy tale ending.

But when I went back to the front and saw he'd left another sketch on his table—the coffee shop interior with me tucked into the corner, pouring coffee with a small smile—I carefully folded it and put it in my apron pocket.

Just a customer and waitress.