Before Touya can scream, she tumbles through the closed glass as if it were air, landing in a heap on his pile of laundry.
Nelly’s halo blazed bright, then soft. She took the plant, hugged it, and pressed her forehead to his.
She vanished with the sunrise, leaving behind a single feather and a refrigerator stocked with pudding.
“But your room,” she said softly. “It’s south-facing. You said you wanted a houseplant.” Watch One Room- Hiatari Futsuu- Tenshi-tsuki. E...
“No,” he replied, looking at the empty, south-facing window. “Now I know what to pray for.”
“So go to the fourth floor,” Touya said, poking her halo with a chopstick. It wobbled like gelatin.
Nelly was terrible at being an angel. She couldn’t heal his paper cut—she just blew on it and said, “There, blessed.” She couldn’t provide divine wisdom—she used his textbooks as a pillow. What she could do was hover. She’d float near the ceiling, legs crossed, and watch him study for hours. Before Touya can scream, she tumbles through the
Touya hadn’t prayed. He’d been talking to his dead succulent.
“I’m ‘hiatari futsuu’—just the usual sunbeam,” she said, tapping the south-facing window. “My job is to exist in your light. Literally. Your sunlight powers my halo. Without it, I’d just be a weird girl on your floor.”
Thus began the most inconvenient roommate situation in Tokyo. She vanished with the sunrise, leaving behind a
“Can’t,” she said, stealing his pudding from the fridge. “Orders are binding. You prayed for ‘someone to share the south-facing room with, even if it’s just a houseplant.’ Technically, I’m better than a houseplant. I photosynthesize!”
Touya Kameda, a perpetually exhausted university student, lives in a 6-tatami-mat apartment. It’s cheap, it’s cramped, and the only luxury is a single, south-facing window that bakes the room like an oven in summer and offers no warmth in winter. One morning, while cleaning a suspicious stain on the floor, he looks up.
One night, he woke to find her sitting by the window, staring at the city lights. Her halo was dim.
The next morning, Touya opened his window to let in the air. A beam of sunlight hit the floor, warm and steady. And for the first time in years, he smiled—not because an angel had fallen into his life, but because an ordinary room, a south-facing window, and a memory were enough.
Touya’s chest tightened. “Then go.”