Fruits Basket Haru Novels & Stories

My best friend, Laurel Elliot, has gotten brainwashed by the infantile mindset. She ends up buying ten boxes of strawberries just so she can eat the strawberry mousse glacee during the Midsummer Festival. Instead, I just whip up some chocolate ganache. In my previous lifetime, Laurel had threatened the strawberry seller, Dave Hoffman, over the phone to refund her the money. On top of that, she even used AI to generate images of spoiled strawberries. I transferred Laurel the money immediately, saying that I'd pay for the strawberries. But that was when Laurel widened her eyes. "I've already used AI to generate spoiled fruits so that the shopping platform can deal with this incident. Since you're that rich, you might as well spend all that money on a smol bean like me!" After advising Laurel multiple times to not do that, she finally conceded. But Dave showed up on my doorstep with a blade in hand the next day. Only then did I find out that not only did Laurel not pay for the strawberries, but she also drove the seller up the wall with her actions. To my horror, Laurel was quick to pin the blame on me. "Dave, Cassie is the one who refused to listen to me and kept making things difficult for you on purpose. I couldn't stop her at all…" Before I could react, Laurel pushed me out immediately. When I open my eyes, I've returned to the day Laurel is about to cause trouble. Upon noticing that I've already made chocolate ganache out of the ingredients meant for the strawberry mousse glacee, Laurel drops the pot into the trash can. "Oopsies! I can't hold the pot at all! It slipped out of my cute widdle hands!"

We stepped out of his car after we spotted a basket in front of the gate. As we approached, I heard a sound. I walked closer and gasped. “What’s that thing?” he asked. “This isn’t a ‘thing.’ It’s a baby,” I deadpanned. I picked up the child. A baby girl. My eyes widened. she had every feature of my boss. Almost like they were related. A note hung from her necklace. “How the hell did she get here?” he asked, coming closer. I shrugged. Slowly, I opened the note and read it aloud: Dear Nick, You probably don’t remember me. We met at a party almost two years ago. We had a one-night stand. Too drunk to use protection. Luciana is the result of that reckless night. I’ve cared for her for a year, putting my life on hold. Now it’s your turn. I don’t want anything from you. Just take care of your child. Xoxo. I watched him run a finger through his hair. Even stressed, the gesture was hypnotic. He’s that beautiful. I couldn’t deny it. “What the fuck? Set up an appointment with my doctor immediately. I’m going to conduct a DNA test for this…thing.” I snorted internally. “Her name is Luciana,” I replied, and he rolled his eyes. I stared down at the baby. She didn’t deserve any of this. How could a mother leave her own child? And what if someone had taken her before we arrived? Luciana. At least she had a name.

My wife and I had agreed to spend the holiday at my parents' house. Right before we walked out the door, she said, "I forgot to change my address again. The package was delivered to Grant's place!" I went still. Three years of marriage, and yet she had never once updated her default shipping address. A microwave she ordered online was delivered to her ex-boyfriend. She said it worked out, since his microwave was broken anyway. The anniversary gift she had picked out for me was signed for by her ex-boyfriend. She said it would be too awkward to ask for it back. The Valentine's Day gift she ordered for me online ended up in her ex-boyfriend's hands. She said she could not give me something secondhand, so she let him keep it. This time, she was ordering a holiday gift basket, and I had reminded her two weeks in advance. It still went to her ex-boyfriend. I kept my voice as steady as I could. "Go get it back. Drive over there right now." Her expression darkened. "He already signed for it. How am I supposed to get it back? We'll just pick something up on the way." "Get it back," I said. "Do you have to be so petty?" she snapped. "You're a grown man. You always have to make such a big deal out of everything." Every time something ended up at her ex-boyfriend's place and I asked her to get it back, that was the answer I got. My hands clenched until the knuckles went white as I watched her slam the door on her way out. I ignored the dull ache in my chest and sent a message to my lawyer. "Happy holidays. Could you please draft a divorce agreement for me? Thank you."