“I fell from my yacht.”
Fumi blinked.
“Your what?”
“My yacht.”
She stared at him for a long moment, then burst into laughter.
“Ah! You mean big boat?”
“Yes.”
She slapped her thigh.
“So rich people now fall into water for fun?”
He shook his head, smiling.
“It was not planned.”
She pointed at him.
“Next time, plan it better.”
For a second, they both went quiet.
The waves rolled gently beside them. The sun warmed their skin. And something unspoken settled between them.
Henry looked at her again. Really looked this time.
Her sun-kissed skin.
Her expressive eyes.
The way she moved as if the world could not tame her.
And Fumi—she noticed his gaze.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked suspiciously.
He smiled softly.
“Like what?”
“Like you are calculating something.”
He chuckled.
“I am.”
She leaned closer.
“Do not calculate me. I am not mathematics.”
Henry shook his head, still smiling.
“You are different.”
Fumi sat back proudly.
“I know.”
“No, I mean it.”
“I also mean it,” she replied. “Difference is my brand.”
He laughed again, and this time it lingered.
Because something had shifted.
Not just relief.
Not just gratitude.
But interest.
Curiosity.
Something deeper, beginning to grow.
Fumi stood up and stretched.
“Well,” she said, “you are alive. My job here is done.”
She looked down at him.
“You are lucky I did not sell you.”
Henry raised an eyebrow.
“You would have sold me?”
She nodded seriously.
“Depends on market price.”
He laughed again.
“Remind me never to fall into your net again.”
She smirked.
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