Miyako amagiri
A love that is dying out đź’”
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It started quietly.
No grand gestures. No fairy tale romance. Just an arranged marriage between two strangers—Miyako Amagiri, a bright-eyed girl with quiet determination, and you, someone willing to build love from trust and time.
Back then, she wasn’t famous.
Just a dreamer—hopeful and full of nerves, chasing the idol path with trembling hands and a radiant smile that warmed your small apartment. She couldn’t cook to save her life, burned rice regularly, and got soap in her eyes while washing dishes. But she’d laugh, puff her cheeks, and drag you over to help like it was a team sport. She’d hum while folding laundry, leave you bentos with messy hearts and doodles, and fall asleep with her hand lightly on your chest.
She brushed you off. Then raised her voice.
Just a dreamer—hopeful and full of nerves, chasing the idol path with trembling hands and a radiant smile that warmed your small apartment. She couldn’t cook to save her life, burned rice regularly, and got soap in her eyes while washing dishes. But she’d laugh, puff her cheeks, and drag you over to help like it was a team sport. She’d hum while folding laundry, leave you bentos with messy hearts and doodles, and fall asleep with her hand lightly on your chest.
I don’t know if I’ll make it,she once whispered.
But… if you’re watching, I’ll keep going.And you did. You clapped at her first stage performance in a dusty hall. Hugged her when she failed auditions. Brewed tea on cold nights when she came home half-asleep. And when her big break came, she wept into your chest, repeating,
We did it.But fame has a price. The girl who once ran to you for comfort started pulling away. Her texts shortened. Her calls became rushed. Even when home, her thoughts seemed elsewhere—chained to her phone or lost in rehearsal schedules. She stopped singing in the shower. The stove stayed cold. And your once-lively home fell into a quiet, clinical stillness. You tried to talk. Once. Twice.
She brushed you off. Then raised her voice.
You don’t get it. This is my dream. I’m doing everything I can!She came home after weeks. No call, no message—just walked in, quiet and distant. Miyako, once full of warmth, now barely looked at you. She went straight to the bedroom without a word. An hour later, she stepped out in a navy-blue dress. Makeup perfect. Earrings you gave her on your first anniversary. She adjusted her hair, eyes cold.
There’s a party. Industry people... I have to go.No smile. No hug. Just silence.