The hole of an apartment they shared, in a forgotten neighborhood in Shibuya, was quiet. Or at least, as quiet as an apartment in a complex filled with abused women, drunken old men, and screaming children could ever be. Tzuyu sat on the floor, eyebrows lowered, and lips pressed in a thin line. Her back leaned against the peeling wall, and her long legs were pulled as close to her chest as possible. In front of her, on the small table her mother had bought for her university dormitory eight years ago, was a cold bowl of beef noodle soup. A pair of wooden chopsticks pathetically laid beside the porcelain bowl, waiting, unused.

Tzuyu had returned from her office job in a hurry, pushing through countless bodies in the packed subway station in prime time. Tired as she was, she did not even care to shower once she reached home, and simply washed her hands, before rolling up the sleeves of her white button-down shirt. Her lovely girlfriend was soon coming back home from a full day of work, and so she wanted to have some warm food ready for her to eat. Sana worked so hard all day to pay off their shared debts, so it was the least Tzuyu could do to appreciate her. Besides, she loved cooking.

Even before the two met in the school band, at just sixteen (Tzuyu) and eighteen (Sana) years of age, Tzuyu had learned the art of cooking. Her mother, a short, strict Taiwanese woman, was adamant that cooking was the quality to a strong, and independent woman, as well as the bare minimum for a good wife. She spent her childhood years learning from the women in her family the secrets of the perfect kitchen, and was crafted into a very good cook by the age that most kids had barely expanded their taste palettes past plain cookies and milk. Cooking was something she enjoyed, and a skill that was deemed useful, once she moved into a boarding school in Japan at thirteen years of age. The cafeteria food was simply not up to Tzuyu's taste. So, she took it upon herself to keep a healthy and balanced diet, tied to her Taiwanese heritage, for as long as she stayed in Japan.

And so, freshly out of work, she tied her long hair into a ponytail, put on her apron, and got to cooking her signature dish; beef noodle soup. She was so good at cooking it, that even her father preferred it from his wife's, or even his mother's. Slowly braised beef, in a tasteful beef stock, and the holy Taiwanese unity of star anise powder, cloves, Chinese cinnamon, Sichuan pepper, and fennel seeds, with the addition of pickled mustard greens, and homemade noodles, created the most addictive soup. It was almost like a remedy, that cured sickness, and stripped off any type of tiredness. And Tzuyu, just cooked it so deliciously. So much so, that their neighbors would always knock on their door, once the whole complex was engulfed in the perfect scent, asking for a bowl.

Yet no matter how deliciously Tzuyu had cooked, no matter how much love she poured into that broth, Sana's bowl remained untouched on the small table, in their even smaller apartment. And Tzuyu was left staring at it, still in her work clothes and apron. She just sat there, against the peeling wall, as the sun succumbed to its fatigue, and as the moon erected through its newfound power, waiting for Sana to walk through the door, with a smile on her face. Just like she always used to do.

Always.

Apart from ever since she found that new job, that would supposedly be a lot of help. Her new salary would be high, and their debts would soon fade into a happy, and stable financial life, while their marriage would come into view from the depths it was pushed to. Of course, Tzuyu was happy for Sana, she was happy to be able to dust off her far forgotten dreams of marriage. After so many years of being terribly still, Tzuyu was finally ready to just...move. She just wanted things to get going, and stop being left behind to perish, as time relentlessly ran on and on and on.

But ever since Sana found a new job, even the smallest things in their very tiring, day to day life seemed to be left behind, like an injured runner on the most important race of his life. Sana never came home anymore, if it was not past five in the morning. Sana never shared breakfast and dinner with Tzuyu, she never told her that she was the best cook to ever be born on this planet. Sana did not lay beside Tzuyu, she never ran her fingers down her when she struggled to sleep. Sana never told her that she loved her, never kissed her anymore. They barely ever saw each other.

Tzuyu was just left eating alone, sleeping alone, drinking alone. Waiting wide awake, with tears soaking into the pillow, as Sana would stumble into the apartment limping, barely making it to the bed before collapsing. And then, Tzuyu's alarm would go off, and Sana, still in her bloody clothes, would curse and scream for it to stop ringing. Tzuyu would wipe her tears, turn her alarm off, and go to work. Every day. And when she would come back, Sana would not be here. The only trace of her would be the bloody clothes she discarded on the bathroom floor.

So, Tzuyu waited. The porcelain bowls her mother gifted her after her graduation, staring back at her, as if they could ever understand what she went through. Their cold, white surface reflected Tzuyu's tired eyes, almost taunting her, judging her. As if they ever knew what it feels like. As if they were her mother, who was waiting back home, her warm embrace open, and her judging eyes focused. As if mother would ever understand. How could she? All she cared about was to marry her only daughter off to a rich man, who would be capable enough to take over the family company, once Tzuyu's father was old enough.

The soup had gotten cold. The noodles had become all soggy. The full moon had risen upon the sky, being tickled by the many skyscrapers of Tokyo.

And the door opened with a beep.

Sana stumbled into the house, taking off her shoes. Her hair was all over the place, and her lip was cut. Today, her white shirt and dark pants were not stained, simply dusted, and terribly creased. The fact that the lights were still on puzzled her, and instead of going straight for the bed, Sana stood by the door for a moment. Her eyes trailed from the lamp above her head, to the table with the porcelain bowl full of food, and finally to Tzuyu, who remained motionless.

"What are you doing up so late?" she asked, ruffling her blonde hair with her bruised arm. "Aren't you supposed to be going to work in a couple of hours?"

She waddled over to the table and hovered above the ful