In the quiet commuter town of Aoba, Midori leads a double life—a dedicated nurse on weekdays, and the gentle owner of the café "Green Note" on weekends. To her regulars, she is the warm smile behind the counter, the woman whose chiffon cake is as light as air and whose dimple appears whenever she laughs.
But behind the counter, Midori carries a loneliness she has never spoken aloud. Her husband, Yuuichi, has vanished again—no calls, no messages, just silence stretching into days. It is a patter
Goodnight Punpun Side Story: Midori's Secret - A Visitor on a Rainy Night — A Boy Like a Chick's Doodle
That's wrong, she thought.
She understood it in her head. And yet — why did her chest ache like this?
Midori sat at the dining table, staring down at her hands. Thin wisps of steam rose from the bowl in front of her. Simmered vegetables for two. Chopsticks for two. Bowls for two.
(I did it again.)
She'd told herself it was just in case Yuuichi came home, and before she knew it, she'd made enough food for two. Waiting for a husband who hadn't called in three days had gone past habit — it was carved into her body now, a reflex she couldn't shake.
Outside the window, the rain that had started that morning showed no sign of letting up now that night had fallen. It poured in a steady rhythm, filling the room with its sound. This café — Green Note — sat in a residential neighborhood on the outskirts of Tokyo, a small two-story wooden building. The shop on the first floor had twelve seats, tucked away in a back alley eight minutes' walk from the nearest station. The second floor was their home, and Midori had spent countless nights here alone, waiting for her husband to return.
(Why does food taste like nothing when you eat it alone?)
Midori set down her chopsticks.
During the day, at the outpatient clinic at Aoba General Hospital, any number of patients had said "thank you" to her. Each time, she felt the hole somewhere deep inside her fill, just a little. But when she came home and was alone again, that hole didn't just return to its original size — it felt deeper than before.
(Being useful to someone is supposed to make you happy.)
(But the truth is—)
(Maybe I just want someone to need me.)
A memory from childhood surfaced, unbidden.
Her parents had both worked, always late, and she'd often eaten dinner alone. Leftovers warmed in the microwave, rice from the cooker. A dining table with nothing but the sound of the TV.
(It's been like this since back then.)
(I've always been afraid of eating alone.)
Midori stood and took the pot of simmered vegetables from the refrigerator. The last batch Yuuichi had made for her. Cooking was the one thing he was good at. The daikon had soaked up the flavor perfectly, and the taro was soft. He could make something like this — so why did he just disappear without a word?
(He's kind. He really is.)
(But that kindness always vanishes halfway through.)
She set the pot on the stove and lit the burner. Blue flame wrapped around the bottom of the pot. Watching it, Midori found herself remembering Yuuichi's phone call.
—Could you look after my sister's son for a while? He's run away from home.
That was all he'd said before hanging up on her.
(Run away? What does that even mean?)
(Where is he right now?)
(Why won't you tell me anything?)
By the time she'd tried to ask, the call was already over. She'd called back, but he hadn't picked up.
(Yuuichi is always like this.)
(The more important something is, the more he dodges it.)
Midori found herself rubbing her left wrist. A small burn scar from her days as a nurse. An old wound, but on rainy days it ached, just slightly.
(Is it the rain?)
(Or is it my heart?)
Just a little longer until the food was warm.
Midori returned to the table and straightened the two bowls.
—Ding-dong.
Midori's shoulders jumped at the sudden chime.
(What?)
She checked the clock. Just past eight in the evening. No one was supposed to be visiting at this hour.
(Yuuichi...?)
(But he has a key.)
Ding-dong.
The chime rang again. This time the pause between was a little shorter.
(Someone's standing at the door. In the rain.)
Midori walked slowly toward the entrance. The old wooden house carried every footstep. The floorboards creaked — gishi, gishi — as she went.
(I need to check through the peephole.)
In front of the door, Midori took one deep breath. Then she brought her eye gently to the peephole.
...Too dark to see clearly.
The rain blurred the light from the outdoor lamp.
(But someone's definitely there.)
(A small figure.)
Midori undid the chain and turned the lock.
Slowly, she opened the door.
The smell of rain rushed in all at once. Damp air, the scent of earth, the cold of the night.
And standing there was—
A boy who looked like a doodle of a baby chick.
For a moment, Midori couldn't speak.
(Huh...?)
His eyes were two dots, his mouth a pointed beak. His head was yellow, covered in what looked like fluffy down. His frame was thin and delicate.
(This child...)
(Yuuichi's nephew...?)
The boy stood without an umbrella.
Soaked by the rain, the yellow fuzz on his head was plastered flat. His clothes were drenched through, the outline of his body showing clearly beneath them. His shoulders were trembling in small, quick shivers.
(He must be freezing.)
(Soaked like this.)
(How long has he been out here? Since that phone call?)
Before Midori could think about what she was doing, she was already speaking.
"Punpun...kun?"
The boy gave a small nod.
That was all.
The sound of rain flowed between them.
(So it's true.)
(Yuuichi's nephew. Punpun-kun.)
Midori studied the boy's face.
(So this is what "looks like a doodle of a baby chick" means.)
(But it's strange. I'm not scared at all.)
(If anything, I can't just leave him be.)
"...For now, come inside. You'll catch a cold."
Midori opened the door wide and stepped aside.
Punpun stood frozen in place for a moment.
His dot-like eyes stared fixedly at Midori.
(Is there something he wants to say?)
(Maybe he just can't get the words out.)
Midori didn't try to force conversation.
She simply waited.
The smell of rain, the quiet of the night, the presence of the boy.
At last, Punpun took a slow step forward.
Wet sneaker prints marked the tile of the entryway.
"You came all this way."
The words came out so naturally it surprised even her.
(Ah. I see.)
(I was waiting for this child.)
Punpun nodded again, small.
—Midori brought the boy inside.
Midori fetched several towels and dried Punpun off.
"Here. I'll dry your hair — can you lean down a little?"
Punpun bowed his head without a word.
Midori wrapped the yellow fuzz gently in a soft towel.
(It's so fluffy.)
(Much softer than it looks.)
The body heat that reached her through the towel was colder than she'd expected.
"You're freezing. Shall I run a bath?"
Punpun shook his head.
"...I'm okay."
It was the first time she'd heard his voice.
Small and hoarse. So faint it might have been swallowed by the rain.
(He can speak.)
(Thank goodness.)
"Really? But at least you need a change of clothes. Let me go get something — wait here a moment."
Midori went to her husband's room and found clothes that were still wearable.
Yuuichi's things were all a little too big. But better than staying in wet clothes.
"These are Yuuichi's, so... sorry, I don't have anything in a woman's size. Can you make do with these?"
Punpun took the clothes and gave a small nod.
"You can change in that room over there. Feel free to use the washroom too."
Midori showed Punpun to the changing area, then returned to the kitchen.
(I'll make soup.)
(I want to give him something warm.)
She opened the refrigerator. Onion, carrot, potato, bacon.
(With these, I can make a simple vegetable soup.)
Midori began chopping the vegetables quickly.
The efficiency she'd built up as a nurse came in handy at times like this.
(Is he hungry?)
(He might not have had a proper meal in days.)
The knife made a light, rhythmic sound against the cutting board.
(Yuuichi said he ran away from home.)
(Why would he run away?)
(What happened?)
There were a mountain of things she wanted to ask.
But right now, feeding him something warm came first.
(The talking can wait.)
(No need to rush.)
Midori put the vegetables and water in a pot and lit the stove.
After a while, Punpun appeared in the kitchen.
Yuuichi's clothes were indeed too big — they sagged at the shoulders, and the sleeves hung past his hands, hiding them completely.
(He looks like he's being worn by the clothes.)
(And somehow that just makes me want to take care of him more.)
"Oh, they suit you. A little big, though."
When Midori smiled, Punpun hunched his neck just slightly.
"I'm making soup now. Just a little longer."
Punpun perched on a chair at the dining table.
Back straight, both hands placed on his knees.
(He's nervous.)
(Of course he is.)
(He showed up at a stranger's house out of nowhere.)
Midori glanced at Punpun as she stirred the soup.
(But it's strange.)
(He should be a stranger, and yet somehow... he feels familiar.)
(...Have I seen this child somewhere before?)
That couldn't be.
Today was the first time she'd ever met Yuuichi's nephew.
(Just my imagination.)
Midori tasted the soup.
She added a little salt and pepper.
"Here you go. It's hot, so be careful."
She set the steaming soup in front of Punpun.
White steam swayed in front of the boy's face.
Punpun picked up the spoon.
(Will he eat?)
Midori took her own bowl and sat across from him.
Punpun scooped up some soup and brought it slowly to his mouth.
—And then it happened.
Punpun's small body trembled.
(Ah.)
Midori didn't miss it.
(He just trembled.)
(Is it the cold? Or—)
(...Is he happy?)
Punpun said nothing.
He simply scooped another spoonful and brought it to his mouth.
Again, that small tremble.
(He might be about to cry right now.)
(But he doesn't know how.)
Something tightened deep in Midori's chest.
(I'm doing something for this child right now.)
(Making warm soup, setting it before him.)
(And just that is enough to make his body tremble with happiness.)
She had been useful to someone.
That fact filled the hole in Midori's heart with something warm, just a little.
(Ah, I see.)
(This is the kind of time I wanted.)
Midori took a sip of her own soup.
(It's delicious.)
(When you eat with someone else, it tastes like this.)
The sound of rain came from far away.
There was almost no conversation between them.
And yet, strangely, Midori didn't feel lonely at all.
(Just having this child here—)
(It feels like the air in this room has changed.)
The next morning, Midori woke early.
(Today's a hospital day.)
(But before that, there's something I need to do.)
First, she called Yuuichi's cell phone.
Brrrring... Brrrring...
No matter how many times it rang, no answer.
The call switched to voicemail.
"...Yuuichi. It's me. Punpun-kun came. So don't worry. ...If you can, just once — please pick up."
Midori ended the call.
(Still no answer.)
(But at least I told him.)
She let out a single sigh and headed to the kitchen.
(I need to make lunches.)
(Punpun-kun's too.)
Midori took eggs and sausages from the refrigerator.
She made rolled omelet, fried the sausages, and packed the leftover simmered vegetables from yesterday into a small container.
(He's a boy — maybe he needs more.)
She packed extra rice and laid out nori.
(I'm doing something like a mother would.)
The thought made her feel oddly bashful.
As she wrapped the lunches, Midori glanced at Punpun sleeping in the living room.
(So he ended up on the sofa after all.)
She'd covered him with a blanket when she'd woken once in the middle of the night.
(He's sleeping well.)
(Good.)
Midori got ready quietly so as not to wake him.
(I need to leave a proper note before I go to the hospital.)
She placed a memo on the living room table.
"Good morning. Your lunch is in the fridge — warm it up and eat.
I'll leave the key on the table. Make sure to lock up when you go out.
If anything happens, call this number."
Below the note, she wrote her cell number.
(Will this be enough?)
Midori looked at the sleeping Punpun once more.
(I'll leave without waking him.)
(He must have been exhausted yesterday.)
She headed quietly to the front door.
"...I'm off."
She murmured it to no one in particular and closed the door.
Outside, a light rain was still falling.
The outpatient clinic at Aoba General Hospital was crowded again today.
"Ookuma-san, patient in room three, please."
"Yes, understood."
Midori took the chart and headed for the
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