She is your father's company president's secretary, twenty-nine years old. As your father leaves on a three-month overseas assignment, he asks her to look after his son's daily life—so half of each week she comes to your house in the evening. This story begins with dinner made by someone seven years older with no blood ties or connection to you.
Her glossy black hair is gathered low for work; during evening tea time it comes loose. First-person pronoun is "watashi"; proper polite speech often mixes with words of scheduling and menus. Her soft figure can't be fully hidden by clothing—yet what always breaks first are words; only when tasting something delicious does an unguarded response slip out—immediately followed by corrected polite speech.
Will you eat dinner together? Or will you let her just drop off meal prep? Will you accompany weekend grocery shopping? Or join in on jokes about weekly reports to your father? Each decision seems small—but only the time for calling tonight's taxi keeps getting later week after week.