Chapter 2: Aoi Mizushima’s Smile

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The cafeteria hummed with the familiar sounds of laughter, conversation, and the clattering of trays. Ren Ito sat at his usual spot, a small corner table near the wide windows that overlooked the school’s courtyard. From this vantage point, he could watch the world go by without being noticed. That was how he liked it. Or, at least, that was what he had convinced himself.

His lunch remained untouched before him—a neatly packed bento his mother made every morning. The bright colors of the food seemed out of place in his world of muted tones. His chopsticks rested limply in his hands as he stared at the neatly arranged rice, vegetables, and fish. Ren was here, physically, but his mind was far away, lost in a familiar haze of silence.

He was a master at fading into the background.

“Ren-kun!” A lively voice broke through the hum of the cafeteria, jolting him from his thoughts.

He looked up to see Aoi Mizushima, her bright smile beaming down at him. Her long, dark hair swayed as she moved, her uniform crisp and neatly pressed. She was the kind of girl who always seemed to be brimming with energy, her laughter echoing through the hallways like a melody everyone could hear, but no one could resist humming along to.

Without waiting for an invitation, Aoi slid into the seat beside him, her tray clattering onto the table. It was filled with an assortment of bread from the school’s bakery, her usual choice. She never brought a bento, and Ren often wondered why.

“Guess what?” she said, leaning in slightly, her eyes twinkling. “I totally aced the math quiz today. I mean, I was freaking out a bit last night, but I managed to pull through. What about you? Did you find it tough?”

Ren’s throat tightened, as it often did in moments like this. Words formed in his mind, but they were stuck, lodged somewhere deep inside. He managed a small nod instead, hoping it was enough of a response.

Aoi didn’t seem to mind his silence. She rarely did.

She continued talking, her voice light and breezy as she recounted her morning. She told him about her class, the teachers, a funny thing that happened during gym—something about someone tripping over a soccer ball, though Ren missed the details.

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He wasn’t ignoring her. In fact, he was listening intently, more than she probably realized. But there was a barrier, an invisible wall between them, built from his own insecurities. Ren wasn’t like her—so full of life, so effortless in her ability to connect with others. He was quiet, withdrawn, and the weight of that silence pressed down on him more heavily with each passing day.

As Aoi talked, Ren’s gaze drifted to the window. Outside, the autumn leaves swirled in the wind, golden and red, a reminder that the seasons were changing. He envied their freedom, their ability to dance through the air without care.

“Ren-kun? Are you even listening?”

He blinked, turning his attention back to her. Her face was close now, her brows furrowed in mock annoyance. She was teasing him, as usual, but there was something else in her eyes—concern, maybe?

He opened his mouth, wanting to say something, anything, but the words wouldn’t come. They never did.

Aoi’s expression softened, and she let out a small sigh, though it was more playful than frustrated. “You’re such a mystery, you know that? I never know what you’re thinking.”

Ren lowered his gaze, guilt settling in his chest. He hated this—hated that he couldn’t give her the responses she deserved. She was always so kind, so patient with him. Why couldn’t he just speak? Why was it so hard to break free from this cage of silence?

“I like talking to you, though,” Aoi added, her voice quieter now, almost thoughtful. “It’s strange, but I feel like I can say anything when I’m with you. You don’t judge me, and that’s… nice.”

Ren’s heart tightened at her words. She didn’t know how much that meant to him, how her presence made the unbearable weight of his isolation just a little lighter. But he was also ashamed. Ashamed that he could only offer her silence in return.

Aoi reached for one of her rolls, breaking it in half and offering him a piece. “Here, try this. It’s your favorite, right? Melon bread?”

He hesitated before accepting the bread, their fingers brushing briefly. He took a small bite, the familiar sweet flavor filling his mouth. He wanted to smile, to thank her, but all he managed was another nod.

“See? You do like it,” she said with a grin, satisfied with his non-verbal approval.

The conversation—or rather, Aoi’s monologue—continued for the rest of lunch. She talked about her plans for the weekend, a new café she wanted to visit, and asked if Ren had ever been. He hadn’t, of course. Going out wasn’t something he did often.

But he liked hearing her talk about it. It was as if she was painting a picture of a world that existed beyond the walls he had built around himself. A world where people laughed, connected, and shared their lives freely. A world Ren wasn’t sure he belonged to anymore.

When the bell rang, signaling the end of lunch, Aoi stood up, stretching her arms above her head. “I guess it’s back to class,” she said with a sigh. “I’ll see you later, Ren-kun. Don’t disappear on me, okay?”

Ren nodded again, watching as she picked up her tray and walked away, her presence leaving a strange emptiness in the space she had occupied. He didn’t move for a while, his mind replaying the conversation—or lack thereof—in his head.

Why did she bother with him? He couldn’t figure it out. He wasn’t interesting, he didn’t talk, and yet she kept coming back. Maybe she pitied him. Maybe she saw something in him that even he couldn’t see. Or maybe she just didn’t care about his silence the way he did.

Whatever the reason, Ren was grateful. Even if he couldn’t say it, he was grateful for her presence, for her endless chatter that filled the empty spaces in his world.

But deep down, he knew this couldn’t last forever. Sooner or later, Aoi would realize that there was nothing more to him than this silence. And when that day came, Ren feared she would walk away for good.

The thought terrified him more than he cared to admit.