#softtoji

- Your Pace -

You hadn’t meant to stop.

One moment you were weaving through the river of people, bag strap clenched in your fist, and the next—the noise hit all at once. Honking horns, chatter layering over chatter, the shuffle and thuds of shoes. It pressed in on you from every direction. Your feet locked to the pavement like they’d forgotten how to move.

A cool breeze tugged at your curls. The smell of something fried wafted from a nearby food cart, and none of it reached you. You were somewhere else entirely, stuck behind glass while the world rushed on. People curved around you like water around a stone, never looking.

Except him.

He slowed as if the river didn’t apply to him, as if he had time to spare. Tall. Broad-shouldered. Hands in his pockets. The kind of presence that made space around itself. Dark hair, a little messy like he’d run a hand through it on his way here.

He stopped just a step away, tilting his head. “You lost or something?” His voice was rough, rough in a way that didn’t scrape against your nerves. Your eyes darted everywhere but his face. Shop signs. Traffic lights. Your own shoes. Words tangled and dissolved before they could form. You shook your head, quick and small. “Ah.” Something eased in his expression. His tone softened. “Crowds get to you?” Your fingers twisted the hem of your sleeve. You nodded, barely. Heat rose in your cheeks.

He didn’t laugh. He didn’t sigh. Instead, he shifted subtly, planting himself like a barrier between you and the blur of passing strangers. His back was broad, his stance casual, as though he’d always meant to stand there. “No rush,” he murmured. “Take your time.”

The words reached you slowly, gentle as a feather landing. You blinked up at him, startled by the kindness. He caught your fleeting glance and let it go, looking away like it was nothing, like you were allowed to look without being trapped.

Bit by bit, the air stopped buzzing. You released your bag strap just enough to feel your fingers again. The world tilted back into place, not so sharp at the edges. When the crowd thinned, he spoke again, careful and unhurried. “There’s a ramen place around the corner,” he said, nodding that way. “Quiet booths. Good soup. You like ramen?”

You hesitated. Your brain spun in circles. Stranger. Big. Scary-looking. Not scary? Deep voice. Smells like warm cologne and rain. Ramen. He watched your silence without impatience, then added, “Just food. If it’s too much, you can leave. No strings.” A pause. “I’ll pay.” Something unknotted inside your chest.

“…Okay,” you whispered, voice so small it nearly vanished. His mouth curved—just slightly, like a secret. “Alright.” And he stepped back, giving you space as if you were something delicate and important.

He didn’t walk ahead. He matched your steps. Slow, easy strides, never brushing against you, letting you decide the rhythm. The crowd wasn’t as loud with him soaking up the edges of it. His presence made a bubble of calm you could breathe in.

After a block, you found yourself stealing a glance. He was humming under his breath, eyes half-lidded like the city couldn’t bother him if it tried. “You always this quiet?” he asked, without teasing. You nodded, embarrassed. “Sometimes I… can’t talk.”

He hummed like that was perfectly normal. Your lips twitched, almost a smile. The ramen shop was small and warm, tucked between two brick buildings. Paper lanterns glowed soft gold in the window. When he opened the door, the bell chimed gently instead of clanging. Inside smelled like broth and comfort.

He picked a booth in the far corner, sliding in and letting you choose your side first. The noise here was small—clinking spoons, murmured voices, the soft hiss of boiling water. You could feel your shoulders unclench. He didn’t push conversation while you scanned the menu. Just sat there, calm, letting you exist. When you whispered what you wanted, he ordered for you like it was nothing, voice steady and sure.

And when the ramen arrived, steam curling into the air, he grinned faintly. You tasted it. Warm, salty, soft noodles that melted on your tongue. Your whole body exhaled. He noticed, eyes glinting with something like pride. “Told you it was good. Better?” You nodded, cheeks warm. Not from embarrassment this time. From something else. Something lighter.

Maybe it was silly. Maybe it was too soon. But as the city faded to a soft hum beyond the window, you wondered if this tall, quiet, lazy looking stranger might be someone you’d like to see again.

Maybe not just for ramen.

✩˚｡⋆ Written with love by mintedmomments ⋆｡˚✩

🌸 I shared a little draft of this yesterday, but I couldn’t resist polishing it up and adding more love. If you’d like to see a part 2 (fingers crossed!), let me know — it would make my heart so happy. ♡