This story was inspired by the concept: "Nicole's smoking habit was influenced by her ex-boyfriend."
Special thanks to the follower who gave me this idea.
Japanese version link: https://privatter.me/page/69be4c1715c40

I first learned the meaning of my heart's quickening a long time ago.

It began with me.
I was drawn in by the tall boy, by the scent of ash and smoke that clung to his words.
The closer I got to him, the thicker it became.

—It's okay. Here, try one.

One day, he taught me something new.
Even if he hadn't offered, I probably would have started eventually.
Back then, I just wanted to get closer to him.

—Was it harsh? Hah, yeah, that's how it is at first. So, want to smoke together again next time?

The lighter snapped shut.
Before I realized it, the air around us was filled with the smoke we'd breathed out,
and no one else was visible anymore—only him.

...But in that haze, little by little, the distance between us grew.

"Um... maybe we could go on a date again sometime?"

—Hmph. There you go again. I've told you many times that I'm busy, haven't I?

"But—!"

—I don't have time to wait for you. Let's just break up.

The only thing I could see vanished.
No matter how much I screamed, the smoke tangled around my words and swallowed them whole.

A few months passed, and my second love began.
This time, he came to me.

—You like instruments? That's wonderful.

For a while after we started dating, I shared my favorite songs with him.
I played for him. I sang.
But he almost never suggested music of his own.
If he did, it was just bits of whatever was popular at the time.
He didn't seem to care much about the lyrics either.

One day, as I kept talking about music, everything I'd been holding back finally spilled out.

"...Do you even like music?"

He finally turned his tired gaze toward me.

—To be honest, I don't really understand things like chords. I think you're wonderful, though.

The words that had been ripening and crumbling in my chest burst free.

"...Hey. When you said ‘love at first sight,' did you mean ‘I'm only interested in how you look'?"

—That's not fair. Don't make me sound like the villain here.

After we broke up, I deleted every recording no one had ever bothered to listen to.
All that remained were a few pieces I had loved to play for myself.

After that, it kept happening, again and again.

For a moment of my heart's quickening,
I'd spill out my dissatisfaction,
and throw away relationships that could no longer be fixed.

Even after I started working as a barista, in some ways nothing changed.

For a moment of peace,
I breathed out white smoke,
and wore down a body that could never truly heal.

I can't stop, even though I know I should—
just to cloud my thoughts.

The days keep passing.

How many times have I sworn, "This will be the last"?

Just one more.

Just one more.

...

And yet...

...Just one more time. With that guy in the red hoodie.