Polka's Date Third Edit

Polka Takahashi’s mornings were a ritual—one she guarded with the same seriousness other people reserved for national holidays. Before the sun even considered rising, she was already awake, hair sticking out in every direction, blinking at the ceiling as if challenging the day to surprise her. But today was more than just a morning start she had to be prepared.

She had to be ready.
And she needed to do it quick.

Yes, there was that dreaded maths test sleeved between her copy of Brown Danny and Robinson KS but even that would prove no obstacle today.

She knew it would prove no obstacle.

Maths.

It was a millstone around her neck, and somehow it always found a way to remind her it existed—even on mornings like this, when she was supposed to be floating.

As she tightened the strap of her bag, her mind drifted back to the familiar dread that used to settle in her stomach every time she opened a textbook. Numbers never behaved for her. They twisted, blurred, rearranged themselves into shapes that made no sense. Everyone else seemed to glide through equations like they were following a recipe. Polka, meanwhile, always felt like she was trying to bake a cake with the instructions written in a language she didn’t speak.

A memory surfaced—uninvited, as usual.

She was sitting at her desk, pencil tapping anxiously against the page. The classroom was quiet except for the soft scratch of other students writing. Her test paper stared back at her, half-blank, half-wrong. She remembered the heat rising in her cheeks when the teacher paused beside her, offering that gentle, pitying smile Polka hated more than anything.

“You’re trying,” the teacher had whispered. “That’s what matters.”

But it didn’t feel like it mattered. Not when she got the test back with a red mark so low it made her want to sink into the floor.
Another flash: Mai leaning over her notebook one afternoon, trying to help her understand fractions. Mai had been patient—painfully patient—but Polka still remembered the moment she mixed up the numerator and denominator for the fifth time. She’d laughed it off, but inside she’d felt that familiar sting of inadequacy.

Why can’t I just get this?

The question had echoed in her head for years.

Even now, as she walked toward the train, the ghost of that frustration tugged at her. She knew it was silly. Today wasn’t about maths. Today wasn’t about failure. Today was about Mai—about something bright and hopeful and new.

But the old insecurity clung to her like static.

She shook her head, trying to clear it.

Not today, she told herself. Maths can haunt me tomorrow.

First came stretching. Then a quick check of her idol posters—each one greeted with a sleepy salute. Then breakfast… or rather, the idea of breakfast, because she wasn’t allowed to touch a single grain of rice until she completed the most dreaded part of her ritual:
Her morning maths test.

It wasn’t assigned by school. No teacher demanded it. This was entirely Polka’s own doing—her personal rule to “activate her brain” before eating. She sat cross‑legged at her tiny desk, pencil tapping, brows furrowed in dramatic concentration as she scribbled through equations like she was defusing a bomb.

“Okay… if Train A leaves Tokyo at 7:15…” she muttered, chewing the end of her pencil, “and Train B leaves Osaka at—ugh, why are trains always leaving places at weird times?”

She groaned, flopped forward, then forced herself upright again. Breakfast waited. Warm miso soup. Perfectly grilled salmon. Rice steamed to fluffy perfection. Her stomach growled like a wild animal demanding tribute.

“Focus, Polka. You can do this. Food is the reward. Food is the victory.”

Ten more minutes of intense scribbling later, she slapped her pencil down triumphantly.

“Done! And I only cried once!”

With the test complete, she practically flew to the kitchen. Breakfast tasted even better when earned—at least, that’s what she always told herself. By the time she finished, the sun had risen fully, painting her room in soft gold. A smile came to her face. It was a very special day.

Polka shut her bedroom door behind her and let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. The excitement buzzing in her chest made it impossible to stand still, but she forced herself to focus. First date. With Mai. No panicking. No calling for help. She could do this.

She opened her wardrobe like it was a treasure chest. Rows of neatly folded clothes greeted her—some practical, some cute, some she’d bought on impulse at 2 a.m. because the model looked confident and she wanted to feel the same.
She tapped her chin.

“Okay, Polka. Step one: don’t overthink it.”

She pulled out her favorite top, a soft cream blouse with tiny embroidered stars along the collar. It wasn’t flashy, but it made her feel… put together. Like someone who had her life sorted, even if she absolutely did not.

Next came the skirt—a gentle pastel blue that swished when she moved. She held it up to herself in the mirror, turning left, then right.

“Cute. Not too cute. Perfect.”

She changed quickly, smoothing the fabric with her palms. Her heart fluttered. She looked like someone going on a date. That alone made her grin.

Accessories. She rummaged through a small wooden box until she found the simple silver necklace Mai had once complimented. She clasped it around her neck, fingers trembling just a little.

Hair next. She brushed it out, then tied it into a loose half-up style that framed her face. A tiny ribbon—white, with a soft sheen—went in last. It wasn’t necessary, but it made her feel like she sparkled.

Finally, she slipped on her shoes: comfortable flats, because romance was great but blisters were not.

She checked herself in the mirror one last time.

Not perfect. Not flawless.

But undeniably Polka.

And for today, that was exactly right.

With a bright, unstoppable smile, she grabbed her bag and headed for the door—ready for whatever this first date would bring. She grabbed her bag, swing it over her shoulder, and burst out the door and she was excited for it for today was a very special day. Her first date with Mai, and she didn't even need to call Mai for help

"Thanks Gemini" She thought as she made her way to the train.

________________________________________

The train doors slid shut behind her with a soft hiss, and Polka stepped inside, clutching the strap of her bag like it was the only thing keeping her anchored to the earth. She found a seat by the window and sank into it, exhaling slowly as the train lurched into motion.

The rhythm of the tracks began its steady hum beneath her feet. Normally, she found it soothing. Today, it only made her heart beat faster.

First date. With Mai.

The words repeated in her head like a mantra, equal parts thrilling and terrifying.

She pressed her forehead lightly against the cool glass. Outside, the scenery blurred into streaks of color—trees, rooftops, the occasional flash of someone walking their dog. All of it rushing by, none of it sticking long enough to distract her.

Her fingers drifted to the silver necklace at her collarbone. She traced the familiar shape, remembering the offhand way Mai had said, “That looks really nice on you.”

It had been such a simple comment. Polka had replayed it for days.

She shifted in her seat, trying to calm the fluttering in her stomach.

“What if I say something weird?” she muttered under her breath. “Or trip. Or spill something. Or—”
She cut herself off before the spiral could get any worse.

The train rocked gently, and she let her eyes fall half-closed. She imagined Mai’s smile—the warm, easy one that made Polka feel like she was standing in sunlight. She imagined the way Mai tilted her head when she was curious, or how her voice softened when she talked about things she loved.

Thinking about those things helped. A little.

She straightened up, smoothing her skirt, then smoothing it again even though it didn’t need it. Her reflection in the window stared back at her: wide-eyed, hopeful, slightly panicked.

“Get it together,” she whispered. “You look fine. You’re fine.”

The train rattled on.

She tried to picture how the date would go. Maybe they’d walk side by side, close enough that their hands brushed. Maybe they’d laugh about something silly. Maybe—if she didn’t combust from nerves—she’d even manage to tell Mai how much she enjoyed spending time with her.

Her cheeks warmed at the thought.

She shifted again, crossing and uncrossing her legs. The train car was quiet, just a few scattered passengers absorbed in their own worlds. Polka envied them. They weren’t on the verge of a heart attack over a girl with a perfect smile.

She inhaled deeply, counting to four, then exhaled to six. A trick she’d learned to calm herself. It helped… marginally.

Her mind drifted to the moment she’d woken up that morning, the way excitement had jolted her out of bed before her alarm. She’d practically sprinted through her routine. And now here she was, on the train, dressed up, heart pounding, heading toward something she’d wanted for so long.

She let that thought settle.

She wanted this.

Not because she felt she had to. Not because someone pushed her.

Because Mai made her feel brave. And warm. And seen.

The train curved along the tracks, and sunlight spilled through the window, catching the ribbon in her hair. She reached up and touched it lightly, smiling despite herself.

“Okay,” she murmured. “I can do this.”

The train continued its steady journey, carrying her forward—toward her date, toward Mai, toward whatever came next.
And for the first time since she’d boarded, Polka felt her heartbeat slow, just a little.

She exited her train and made her way towards the exit, the late afternoon sun hung low over the bustling streets near Asakusa, painting everything in warm golden hues. Polka Takahashi bounced along the sidewalk, her school bag swinging wildly as she hummed an upbeat tune under her breath. Every few steps, her feet did that little spontaneous shuffle—tiny happy dances she couldn't quite control when she was excited.

" Mai-chan! Mai-chan! Look, look! There's that new crepe stand we saw on X last week! We have to try the matcha-strawberry one—it's limited edition!"

Mai Azabu walked a measured half-step behind, hands in her pockets, expression somewhere between fond exasperation and mild resignation. She adjusted her glasses with one finger.

"Polka, we already had taiyaki for lunch. Your sugar intake today is approaching critical levels. And we have club practice tomorrow—do you want to crash halfway through the choreography again?"

"But it's a date!" Polka spun around, arms wide, nearly colliding with a passing salaryman.

"Dates are supposed to be fun and spontaneous! Not... optimal resource allocation!"

Mai sighed, the corner of her mouth twitching upward despite herself.

“This is why I handle the schedule. If I left it to you, we’d end up bankrupt on vending machine drinks and crepes by next week.”
Polka puffed her cheeks in mock offense, but the effect was ruined by the way her eyes sparkled at the word crepes.

“Hey, crepes are an investment in happiness.”
“Mm‑hmm,” Mai replied, already guiding her toward the café with a gentle nudge. “And I suppose you’re planning to invest heavily today.”

The café was tucked beneath a canopy of flowering vines, their pale blossoms drifting down whenever the breeze passed through. A row of small round tables lined the front, each one painted a soft mint green that had chipped charmingly at the edges. The chairs didn’t match—some metal, some wooden, some with cushions that had clearly seen better days—but the mismatched aesthetic only made the place feel more lived‑in, more loved.

Inside, warm light spilled from hanging bulbs shaped like tiny lanterns. The air smelled of butter, sugar, and something citrusy that made Polka’s stomach flutter with anticipation. A glass display case showed off rows of folded crepes, each one filled with fruit, cream, chocolate, or some combination that made Polka’s brain short‑circuit.

They chose a table outside, half‑shaded by the vines. The sunlight filtered through the leaves in shifting patterns, dappling their table in soft gold and green. A small ceramic vase held a single daisy—slightly wilted, but still cheerful.

Polka sat down and immediately bounced her leg under the table.

“I can’t believe we’re actually doing this,” she whispered, as if the moment might vanish if she spoke too loudly.

Mai rested her chin on her hand, watching her with a fondness she tried—and failed—to hide.

“You’re adorable when you’re excited.”

Polka nearly combusted.

Their crepes arrived on pastel plates: Polka’s overflowing with strawberries and whipped cream, Mai’s neatly folded with lemon and powdered sugar. The server placed them down with a smile before disappearing back inside.

Polka stared at hers like it was a sacred artifact.

“It’s beautiful.”

“It’s food,” Mai corrected, though her lips curved upward. “Eat before it melts.”

And so Polka did.

Or tried to.

The first bite was a disaster. The crepe was so stuffed that cream immediately oozed out the side, dripping onto her fingers. She scrambled for a napkin, but the cream had already begun its escape down her wrist.

Mai snorted. Actually snorted.

“You’re unbelievable.”

“It’s not my fault it’s so good!” Polka protested, licking a bit of cream from her thumb. “It’s physics.”

“Physics,” Mai repeated, deadpan. “Right.”

Polka took another bite—slower this time, but still messy. The strawberries were sweet and soft, the crepe warm and delicate, the cream impossibly fluffy. She closed her eyes for a moment, savoring it.

Mai, in contrast, ate with the precision of someone performing delicate surgery. Each bite was clean, controlled, elegant. Polka watched her, mesmerized.

“You eat like you’re in a commercial,” Polka said.

“And you eat like you’re fighting for your life.”

Polka stuck out her tongue. Mai pretended not to smile.

They continued eating, the world around them softening into background noise. The clatter of dishes from inside, the rustle of leaves overhead, the faint chatter of other customers—it all blended into a warm, gentle hum.

Polka’s plate slowly emptied, though her face and hands told a different story. Cream dotted her cheek, a smear of strawberry clung to her wrist, and somehow—somehow—there was powdered sugar on her elbow.

Mai reached across the table with a napkin.

“Hold still.”

Polka froze. Mai dabbed gently at her cheek, her touch light, careful. Polka’s breath caught.

“There,” Mai murmured. “You’re a disaster, but at least you’re a cute one.”

Polka’s heart did a somersault.

She opened her mouth to reply—something witty, something charming—but then she noticed it.

A tiny smear of whipped cream on the corner of Mai’s lips.

Her brain short‑circuited.

“Um,” Polka said, pointing vaguely. “You’ve got—uh—cream.”

Mai blinked. “Where?”

“Right… there.”

Mai reached for her napkin, but Polka moved without thinking. She leaned forward, gently cupped Mai’s chin with trembling fingers, and—very softly—licked the cream away.

Mai froze.

Polka froze.

The world froze.

Then Mai’s face went bright pink.

Polka’s went nuclear.

“I— I— I didn’t— I mean— it was right there— and—”

Mai covered her face with both hands, but Polka could still see the smile spreading beneath them.

“…You’re impossible,” Mai whispered, voice warm and flustered.

Polka wasn’t sure her heart would ever recover.

They continued down the narrow shopping street, weaving past stalls selling souvenirs, street food, and random knick-knacks. Polka kept pointing out everything shiny or delicious-smelling, while Mai offered calm counterpoints ("That's 800 yen for three mochi. We can make better ones at home for half the price.").As they turned a corner near an old shrine gate repurposed as a community bulletin board, Polka suddenly stopped dead. Her eyes widened.

"Wait—Mai-chan, look at this!"

Tacked to the board was a colorful flyer, clearly printed by some enthusiastic fan club or event organizer. Big bold letters at the top:

March Idol Birthday Week!
March 5 - Hinaki Yano’s Birthday
March 8 - Nako Misaki’s Birthday
March 15 - Umi Sonoda’s Birthday
March 31 - Kokoro Fujino’s Birthday

Polka gasped dramatically, clutching Mai's sleeve.

"It's like the universe is throwing us a party! Hinaki-san voices Yuu-chan from Nijigasaki, right? And Nako-san is Chisato from Liella!! Umi from μ's is classic... and—wait, Kokoro Fujino? Isn't that a famous seiyuu idol?"

Mai peered at the sign, tilting her head. "Yeah... March really is stacked this year. No wonder the fan accounts have been spamming birthday art nonstop."

Polka's feet started their happy little tap-dance on the spot.

"This is fate! We're on a date during birthday season for so many senpais! We should do something special—maybe make a video message for the club account? Or bake cookies shaped like arrows for Umi! Or... or program a little birthday countdown widget for the site!"

Mai raised an eyebrow.

"You want me to code a widget... for four different birthdays spread across the month?"
"Yes! With cute animations! Sparkles when you hover! And a secret message that only unlocks if you solve a tiny math puzzle—wait, no, scratch that last part. I'll handle the puzzles. Badly."

Mai let out a small laugh—rare, quiet, but genuine.

"You're impossible."

Polka grinned, linking her arm through Mai's without asking.

"But you like it."

"...Maybe a little."

They stood there a moment longer, the evening crowd flowing around them like a gentle current. The sign fluttered slightly in the breeze, a small reminder of the bigger world of idols they both dreamed of joining someday.

Polka leaned her head on Mai's shoulder.

"Hey... thanks for coming out today. Even if I drag you everywhere."Mai didn't pull away. Instead, she reached up and lightly ruffled Polka's hair.

"Someone has to keep you from buying every limited-edition snack in sight. Besides..."

She glanced back at the sign.

"It's kind of nice. Seeing all these birthdays lined up. Makes March feel... alive." Polka beamed.

"Then next year, when it's our turn to celebrate something big—like our first big live— we'll make sure the sign has our names on it too!" Mai smirked.

"Only if you pass math first."

"Harsh! But fair." Polka laughed, tugging Mai forward again.

"Come on, crepes now. Birthday spirit demands sugar!"

As they walked off arm-in-arm, the sign stayed behind them, quietly announcing its little slice of joy to anyone who passed by—much like Polka and Mai themselves, a burst of energy and steady logic, somehow perfectly in step.