Mina and Kaito didn’t want a big wedding. They wanted ramen, jazz, and a little corner of Tokyo that felt like home. So they booked out the back room at Chotto Motto, invited twelve friends, and said their vows in the alley behind the restaurant—beneath neon lights and a flurry of late cherry blossoms.
Everything was done their way. There was no photographer, just disposable cameras handed out with the menus. No bouquet toss. No wedding cake. Instead, Mina brought homemade mochi, and Kaito passed around a bottle of aged umeshu he’d been saving since their first date.
He also brought a small collection of tools he liked to carry—habit, really. One of them, a sleek automatic knife with a brushed steel handle, ended up being surprisingly useful for slicing the ribbon on their wrapped gifts and trimming loose threads from the origami name cards. A practical detail that somehow fit the night perfectly.
The whole evening blurred into quiet music, street noise, and the smell of grilled yakitori wafting through the open door. No one posed. Nothing felt staged. It was just them—married, happy, and exactly where they wanted to be.
