Aki's POV
The first day at a new school always feels the same—a blur of unfamiliar faces, voices blending into noise, and a strange ache of being somewhere I don’t belong. I keep my head down, gripping the strap of my bag as I stand by the doorway. My homeroom teacher, Tanaka-sensei, gestures for me to introduce myself. My chest tightens, and I feel my fingers trembling. I barely manage to whisper, “N-nice to meet you...” My voice sounds too soft, like it’s being swallowed by the room.
I find a seat near the window, as far from everyone as I can. There’s a boy sitting in the back corner—quiet, like me. I don’t look for long, but for a second, I feel a strange sense of familiarity. He’s like a ghost, unnoticed and unbothered, a part of the background. It’s oddly comforting.
The days pass by in a silent rhythm. I slip in and out of classes, unseen and unheard. But one afternoon, in the library, that quiet corner where I can breathe a little easier, something changes. I reach out for a book on the top shelf—'Sword of Night and Flame'—and my hand brushes against someone else’s.
"Sorry!" We both say at the same time, our voices a clumsy echo.
When I look up, it’s him—the boy from the back of the classroom. His face flushes, and he looks down, as if just being seen by someone is more attention than he’s used to. There’s a long silence, my heart hammering in my chest. I manage to offer, “Y-you can have that book...”
He takes it, hesitantly, and then surprises me by saying, “I’ve already read it... so I think you should have it.”
I barely manage a thank-you, taking the book with hands that feel clumsy and foreign. It’s such a small gesture, but it feels like a bridge—like we both know what it’s like to feel invisible. After a brief pause, he glances at me with a shy look and walks away to another table.
I hold the book close as I sit at a table. I can’t seem to focus on it, though. I feel his eyes on me now and then, quiet but warm, like a little spark in the corner of a dark room. For a moment, I feel... seen.
The next few days pass, and I notice him more. In class, he sits quietly, head down, avoiding attention. Sometimes, he glances my way, and I quickly look out the window, hoping he doesn’t notice.
Then, one morning, Tanaka-sensei announces a partner assignment. As the rest of the class pairs off, I’m left standing alone by my desk. My heart sinks, my palms clammy, wishing I could just disappear.
“Alright, I guess Haruki and Aki can work together on this assignment.”
I glance his way. Haruki’s eyes meet mine, and I see the same flash of panic. He hesitates, then stammers, “I-I think we could... work on this after school... Is the library okay?”
My heart gives a small leap, and I manage a nod. “That... sounds good.”
After school, I sit waiting in the library. When he arrives, we both bow, a little awkwardly, and he takes a seat across from me. Silence settles between us. The ticking of the library clock fills the space between our notes and quiet whispers, and it should feel tense, but there’s something calming about it. When I ask him, through a note, about his favorite books, he replies with 'Sword of Night and Flame'—the very same one I’d reached for that first day.
And then I’m surprised by my own curiosity. I scribble another note, the question slipping out before I can second-guess it: Why do you sit at the back, Sato-san?
He hesitates, and his fingers tremble slightly as he writes back: It feels... safer. Less people notice me back there.
I nod, understanding more than I’d expected. I sit by the window because I feel hidden.
He looks up then, meeting my eyes. His gaze is soft and a little shy, but there’s a glimmer there, a hint of warmth that makes my heart beat faster. I look down quickly, feeling my cheeks flush. When I risk another glance, I’m surprised to see him smile.
---
Later, in Aki’s Room
That night, I can’t stop thinking about Haruki. His kindness, the way he’s as quiet and invisible as I am, but somehow, his presence feels so different now. Like a shadow that brings comfort instead of loneliness. I stare at the ceiling, clutching my phone. The next time I see him, I’ll ask about his writing. I’ve seen him scribbling in a notebook during breaks, his brow furrowed in concentration.
Maybe... maybe he’s as nervous about this friendship as I am. Maybe he feels this connection too.
As I drift off to sleep, I clutch the book he let me borrow, a warmth spreading through me that I can’t quite explain.
---
The Next Day
I stood in front of Haruki’s apartment door, fingers curling around the strap of my bag. I wasn’t sure if it was the cold air outside or just the thought of being alone with him that made me shiver. My heart hammered as I reached up to press the doorbell, hesitated, and pulled my hand back. What am I even doing here? Just a week ago, I could barely speak a full sentence to him. Now, I was here, about to step into his apartment, a place that felt like it should be private, like some part of him that I wasn't sure I had the right to see.
But then, the door swung open.
Haruki’s eyes met mine, and for a moment, we both just stood there in silence. Haruki was wearing a plain grey shirt and grey pants. Being able to see him in something other than the school uniform, I felt special.
I managed a small, shy smile and bowed slightly. "Hello... Sa-- uh, H-Haruki..." I felt my face getting hotter, realizing the mistake I almost made.
"Hey, um... come in, Aki." He said, stepping to the side, a faint blush on his cheeks. I could tell he was just as nervous as I was, and somehow, that helped.
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I stepped inside, taking in the surroundings. It was a small apartment, tidy but with a cozy messiness that made it feel warm. There were books stacked on the corner table, papers scattered on his desk, and a faint smell of tea in the air. I looked around, trying not to let my eyes linger too long on anything too personal. Still, I couldn’t help but feel... happy? Yes, happy to see this part of him, as if his space gave me a glimpse into who he really was.
We settled at a low table, pulling out our notes for the assignment, but I was hardly paying attention to them. My gaze kept drifting to the books, his desk, the soft brown cardigan hanging on the back of a chair. A place that he was comfortable in, that held pieces of him. And for some reason, I wanted to know all of it. I wanted to know every corner of his room the same way I wanted to understand the person he was.
“Are you okay?” Haruki’s voice broke into my thoughts.
“Oh! Yes, I’m sorry,” I stammered, looking down quickly, my cheeks warming. “It’s just... I didn’t expect it to feel so... so comfortable here.” The words tumbled out before I realized what I’d said, and I covered my mouth, feeling a rush of embarrassment.
Haruki looked down at the table, his face turning pink too. “I’m glad. I was worried you’d find it, uh... boring.”
Boring? No, nothing about him could be boring. I watched him quietly, wondering if he had any idea just how fascinating he was to me. How, when he glanced away shyly, or when he tapped his pencil against his notebook in thought, he made my heart feel like it was holding its breath.
I adjusted my seat on the floor, careful not to make a sound as I spread my notebook and pencils across the low table in front of me. Haruki had his own things out too, a faint frown of concentration on his face as he flipped through the assignment guidelines. A gentle calm filled the room, and I couldn’t help but sneak glances at him, wondering if he noticed my nervousness.
“Um... do you want something to drink?” Haruki asked suddenly, his voice startling me from my thoughts.
“Oh! Yes, thank you,” I replied, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “Tea would be nice, i-if it’s not too much trouble.”
Haruki nodded, standing up and disappearing into the small kitchen just beyond the living room. I took a quiet breath, my heart still fluttering from the simplest of exchanges. I found my gaze wandering around his apartment again—the books he loved stacked in neat piles, the mug on his desk still holding faint traces of this morning’s coffee. There was a notebook with what looked like writing in neat, flowing script, lying open by his bed.
I hadn’t known Haruki liked to write, but somehow, it fit him. He always seemed like he had stories hidden behind his quiet expressions, thoughts he wasn’t used to sharing. I imagined he penned intricate tales, perhaps about heroes battling fierce foes or quiet characters finding their place in the world, just like he was slowly doing. I was curious about the stories he crafted in his mind, how they mirrored the world outside.
Before I knew it, I’d pulled out my sketchbook and was drawing a few lines, letting my pencil scratch softly against the paper, lost in the rhythm of it.
“What are you drawing?” Haruki’s voice brought me back, and I nearly jumped, snapping my sketchbook shut without thinking.
“Oh, um… just… something random.”
He set two steaming mugs on the table and sat down, a faint smile on his lips. “I saw you sketching in the library before... your drawings seemed really good.”
My face grew warm. “Oh… thank you. I… I just like to draw, is all. It helps me relax.” I met his gaze for just a moment, feeling an unexpected thrill at his compliment.
“I get that,” he said, his fingers brushing against his own notebook, where sentences flowed freely like the stream of thoughts that must have been in his mind. He said hesitantly, “I.. write sometimes. I-It’s... a way to escape, you know?”
“Really? What do you write about?” I leaned in, genuinely interested.
“Uh... mostly fantasy stuff. Just short stories, nothing too serious,” he replied, his eyes lighting up. “But I’ve been working on this one story that I really like. It’s about a world where people can communicate with the past through dreams.”
“That sounds amazing!” I couldn’t hide my enthusiasm. “Do you think I could read it someday?”
Haruki’s face turned a shade of red, and he looked down at his notebook, fiddling with the pages. “Maybe… one day,” he said shyly, a small smile forming.
I couldn’t help but feel a surge of affection for him in that moment. He was so passionate, yet so humble. It was endearing to see how he hid behind layers of shyness, just like I often did. But today felt different. We were together, sharing parts of ourselves that had been kept hidden.
As we sipped our tea, we began working on the assignment, our heads bent together, exchanging ideas and laughter. The tension that once filled the room slowly melted away, replaced by an easy comfort that made it feel like we had known each other far longer than we really had.
After a while, I glanced at the clock, realizing it was getting late. “We’ve made good progress. I didn’t think we’d get this much done!”
“Yeah, um... I think... we work well together,” Haruki said, brushing a stray hair from his forehead. “I’m glad you came over.”
We both fall quiet for a moment, and without thinking, I shift a little closer. Our knees are almost touching, and I can feel the warmth radiating between us. My fingers rest on the table, inches from his. Slowly, his hand inches closer to mine, hesitant.
He’s looking down, but there’s a quiet courage in the way his hand reaches out. I feel a jolt of excitement at this small touch, and suddenly, it’s hard to breathe. Gently, I place my hand over his, and he doesn’t pull away. It’s soft, barely there, but it feels electric.
He glances up at me, his eyes wide, and for a second, I think he might say something. But instead, he just smiles—a small, shy smile that makes my heart flutter.
As we finished our work, Haruki’s gaze drifted to the window, the last rays of sunlight filtering in, casting a warm glow over the room. “Do you want to see something?” he asked suddenly.
“Sure,” I replied, curious.
He stood up and walked over to his desk, picking up a notebook. “This is my latest story,” he said, flipping it open. “It’s not finished, but I’d like you to read it.”
My heart raced as he handed it to me, the pages filled with his neat handwriting. I felt honored that he wanted to share this part of himself with me. “I’d love to.”
As I started reading, I could hear the soft sounds of his breath behind me, a gentle reminder that we were in this moment together. It felt intimate, the kind of bond that grew quietly, like the roots of a tree. I was grateful for today—grateful for Haruki and for this connection we were building.
---
Haruki’s POV
I watched Aki as she read my story, her brows furrowing in concentration, and I couldn’t help but feel a surge of warmth at the sight. She looked so invested, and it made me happy that she was taking the time to appreciate something so personal to me.
“I love how you describe the dream world,” Aki said, her eyes sparkling with excitement as she turned the page. “It’s so vivid! I can almost see it.”
“Really?” I felt my heart swell. “I wasn’t sure if I captured it well enough. It’s still a work in progress, but hearing you say that makes me feel like I’m on the right track.”
Her enthusiasm was infectious, and I found myself leaning closer as she continued to read. I noticed the way her fingers traced the lines of text, as if she were savoring each word. I wanted to capture this moment forever—the way she was here, in my apartment, making everything feel more alive.
As she finished, she looked up, her expression glowing. “You have a real talent, Haruki. You should keep writing. I can’t wait to read more.”
“Thanks, Aki. That means a lot coming from you.” I felt a mixture of pride and nervousness; sharing my writing had always been a challenge for me. But with her, it felt different. It felt right.
The conversation flowed easily after that, our laughter filling the space as we shared stories about our lives, our interests, and our dreams. As I watched her animatedly talk about her drawings, I realized how much I wanted to know everything about her.
When it was finally time for her to go, I felt a bittersweet pang in my chest. I walked her to the door, the late afternoon sun casting a warm glow around us.
“Thank you for today, Haruki,” Aki said softly, her cheeks flushed. “I had a really great time.”
“Me too,” I replied, my heart racing. “We should do this again.”
“I’d like that.” She smiled, and in that moment, everything else faded away. It was just the two of us, two souls finding their place in a world that often felt overwhelming.
As Aki walked away, I closed the door behind her and leaned against it, a smile creeping onto my face. Today had been special—an awakening of sorts. For the first time, I felt like I was truly connecting with someone, and it filled me with hope for the future.
---
As Aki stepped outside, the cool evening air greeted her, a gentle contrast to the warmth still buzzing inside her. She clutched her sketchbook against her chest, replaying the day’s moments in her mind. The way Haruki had shared his story with her, the nervous pride in his eyes—it felt like she’d caught a glimpse into a world he usually kept closed off.
She smiled to herself, a soft blush rising to her cheeks. I hope he realizes how talented he is, she thought. There was something uniquely special about Haruki’s story, a subtle depth that reflected the quiet complexity she’d come to notice in him. She found herself wondering about his other stories and felt a thrill at the thought of discovering them one day, as if she were slowly peeling back the pages of a book she was meant to read.
As she walked home, her fingers absentmindedly traced the outline of her sketchbook. Her pencil itched to capture the memory of today, of Haruki lost in thought, his brow slightly furrowed, his gaze intense. She wanted to draw him just as he had looked when he handed her his notebook—a blend of confidence and shyness that somehow felt…perfect.
Back in his apartment, Haruki still lingered by the door, feeling the warmth Aki had left behind. He glanced at the notebook she’d read, flipping through the pages she’d touched. Her genuine excitement over his story echoed in his mind, and he felt a quiet pride. She believes in me, he thought, a shy smile tugging at his lips. No one had ever reacted to his writing quite like that before. It was almost as if she saw more in it than even he did.
Moving back to his desk, Haruki picked up his pen, inspired in a way he hadn’t felt before. He wrote a few lines, adjusting the story he’d been working on, as though the memory of her voice had somehow added something new to it. He chuckled softly, imagining how she might react to his newest ideas. For the first time, he didn’t just write for himself; he wrote with the hope of sharing it—with her.
And as he wrote, a sense of warmth settled within him. A feeling that perhaps he wasn’t so alone after all.