Clara Vale considered herself a simple girl: soft-spoken, easily amused, and deeply committed to her greatest passion — having cute toes.
“I’m serious, Aya,” she told her older sister one Saturday morning as they walked through Tokyo’s bustling streets. “Good nail polish is the foundation of a stable emotional life.”
Aya rolled her eyes. “You said that last week when you bought those glittery sandals.”
“Yes,” Clara replied with a mock gasp, “and I stand by it. A girl’s gotta let her toes sparkle like her future relationship — uncertain but full of potential!”
They reached Lovely Lotus Nail Spa, Clara’s personal temple of relaxation. As she settled into the massage chair, she scrolled through her phone, half-watching an old Audrey Hepburn movie on mute. “Vintage film and fresh polish — balance restored,” she sighed.
The nail technician smiled. “You have very elegant feet.”
“Oh, stop it,” Clara giggled, “you’ll make my ego grow faster than my cuticles.”
That evening, Clara and Aya went to a small retro movie café, where Roman Holiday was playing. Clara swooned at every scene. “Now that’s romance,” she whispered. “If I find a guy who looks at me the way Gregory Peck looked at Audrey Hepburn, I’ll marry him immediately — no subtitles needed.”
Aya snorted. “Your last date couldn’t even spell ‘espresso.’”
“Exactly!” Clara laughed. “He thought it was a Pokémon!”
The two sisters burst into giggles, nearly spilling their popcorn.
A week later, Clara went for another pedicure appointment. This time, a new customer sat beside her — a tall, kind-looking guy with clumsy hands and a nervous smile.
He turned and said, “Uh… first time doing this. My sister made me.”
Clara grinned. “Welcome to paradise. Don’t worry, once you start, there’s no going back. It’s like Netflix, but for your feet.”
He laughed, eyes lighting up. “You’re funny.”
“I’m also single,” she said quickly, then blushed. “I mean—funny and single. Equal emphasis on both.”
The two laughed together as the warm water bubbled between them. And somewhere between the pumice stone and the polish, Clara thought to herself:
Maybe, just maybe, true love begins with clean cuticles.
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