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It was a lazy Sunday afternoon.
Sunlight filtered gently through the living room curtains, casting a golden hue over the Kocho-Tomioka household. Shinobu sat on the couch, cradling a cup of warm tea. Giyu sat beside her, half-reading a book, half-dozing. Their daughter Shina lay on the carpet, doodling little flowers in her sketchpad, while Giichi, their excitable 8-year-old son, suddenly lifted his head from the floor.
“Mom. Dad,” he said, tone serious.
Shinobu looked up. “Hm?”
Giichi turned to his sister for support. Shina gave a subtle nod.
“How did you two meet?”
Giyu blinked.
Shinobu blinked.
Then they both looked at each other — a long, quiet look — before Shinobu burst into a quiet laugh.
“Should we tell them the truth, dear?”
Giyu muttered, “The dog story?”
Shina’s ears perked. “There’s a dog story?”
Giichi’s eyes widened. “Wait, what? Was it a scary dog?”
Shinobu patted her son’s head. “Oh, very. Terrifying. Especially for your father.”
“I wasn’t scared,” Giyu said quietly. “I was just… tactically retreating.”
“Right,” Shinobu said with a teasing grin. “Let’s tell them the story.”
It started on a rainy Tuesday.
Shinobu was late for her biology lecture. Umbrella forgotten, coat half-buttoned, bag clutched to her chest, she dashed through campus. Her heels clicked against wet pavement.
Giyu, a quiet literature major, had just exited the campus library, hoodie up, earphones in, unaware of the chaos barreling his way.
Shinobu turned a sharp corner — and collided into him.
Books flew. Papers scattered. Her bag hit the concrete with a wet thud.
“Ah—!” she yelped.
“...Oh.” Giyu blinked. “You okay?”
“You ran into me!” she scowled.
“You ran into me,” he replied flatly.
It might’ve escalated further if not for the barking.
They both froze.
Across the quad, a very large golden retriever — leash trailing behind — was charging toward them with joyful, tail-wagging vengeance.
Shinobu froze. “Why is it running at us?”
Giyu looked. “...I don’t know.”
“Is it yours?”
“No.”
“Is it friendly?!”
“I don’t think so.”
The dog barked again, full speed.
Shinobu grabbed Giyu’s wrist. “Run!”
And they did.
Through muddy grass, past startled students, across the slippery back lot of the science building — Giyu running for dear life, Shinobu yelling something about “dogs are supposed to love people!”
The dog didn’t stop. It was like it imprinted on Giyu’s soul.
“I didn’t even look at it!” he shouted.
“Maybe it sensed your fear!”
They finally jumped a fence. The dog skidded to a halt, stared at them, barked twice, and ran off chasing a butterfly instead.
They collapsed on the ground, soaked, muddy, panting.
And then… Shinobu started laughing.
Giyu turned to look at her — really look at her. Her damp hair was sticking to her cheeks. Her smile was wide. Unrestrained. Alive.
It made his chest feel… weird.
“You’re insane,” he said.
She wiped her eyes. “You’re welcome. I just saved your life.”
“You grabbed my hand and dragged me into chaos.”
“And you followed.”
He blinked. “…True.”
That’s when she offered her name.
“Shinobu Kocho. Second-year biology. You?”
“Giyu. Literature.”
“Just Giyu?”
“...Tomioka.”
And just like that — a girl with a sharp tongue and a quiet boy with no social battery had found a thread tying them together.
Back in the present, Giichi was cackling. “You got chased by a golden retriever?!”
Giyu grumbled. “It was fast.”
Shina giggled. “It just wanted to play, Daddy.”
Shinobu leaned into him. “And that was our first ‘date.’ Completely unintentional.”
“You called it a date?” Giyu muttered.
“You bought me tea after. It counts.”
He gave a small smile. “I guess it does.”
Giichi leaned closer, eyes shining. “Is that when you knew you loved Mom?”
Giyu blinked. “...No.”
Shinobu sipped her tea. “But it was when I knew.”
He turned to her.
“I knew when you followed me over the fence,” she said gently. “You didn’t even hesitate. You didn’t know me, and you still followed.”
Giyu’s gaze softened.
“You always follow me. Even now,” she added.
“That’s because I trust you,” he said.
Giichi made a face. “Ewwww, you’re gonna kiss now, aren’t you—”
“Go to your room,” Giyu said calmly.
Shina giggled as she dragged her brother away, leaving their parents behind.
Once the kids were out of earshot, Giyu wrapped an arm around Shinobu’s shoulders.
“I don’t regret that day,” he said.
“Even with the dog?”
“Even with the dog.”
She rested her head on his shoulder. “You never did tell me why it chased you.”
“I had a ham sandwich in my hoodie pocket.”
Shinobu stared at him.
“You what?”
“I forgot it was there.”
She laughed so hard she nearly spilled her tea.
The End.