The taxi door clicked shut, a dull thud that vibrated through the worn seat and up my spine. Outside, the gate of Meisei Magic Academy loomed, grander and more imposing than any picture I'd seen online. Magic Academy. The words still felt foreign, a storybook phrase that didn't quite belong to my life. My life of silence, of notebooks and hesitant hands.
"We're here," the driver had said, his voice a faint rumble I'd mostly lip-read, his eyes meeting mine in the rearview mirror with a flicker of something – pity? Curiosity? I'd nodded, offering the small, practiced smile that was meant to say, 'Thank you, I'm no trouble.'
My new uniform, a sailor-style fuku in a deep navy blue, felt stiff and unfamiliar. It was a little too big for my petite frame, the sleeves threatening to swallow my hands. I clutched the strap of my bag, its weight a familiar comfort. Inside, nestled amongst textbooks, was my lifeline: a fresh, spiral-bound notebook and a handful of carefully sharpened pencils.
A gust of wind, surprisingly warm for early April, swirled around me, carrying with it a flurry of pale pink petals. Cherry blossoms. They danced in the air, silent and graceful, like confetti thrown by an unseen hand. I watched one spiral down and land on the sleeve of my uniform. It was a perfect, five-petaled star. For a moment, just a brief, fragile moment, a bud of hope unfurled in my chest. A new school. A new start. Maybe here, things could be different.
My old school… I pushed the memories down, a familiar ache tightening my throat. The averted eyes, the snickers muffled behind hands, the frustration that coiled in my stomach when my own hands couldn't keep up with the words I wanted to share.
Taking a deep breath, I started walking towards the entrance. The air here felt… different. Thicker, almost, like it hummed with a quiet energy I couldn't quite name. Was this the 'magic' of Meisei Magic Academy? Or was it just my imagination, always eager to find meaning in the mundane? I often wondered if my inability to hear amplified other senses, or if I simply paid more attention to the small, overlooked details of the world. Sunlight dappling through leaves wasn't just light; it was a shimmering dance. The subtle shift in air pressure before a door opened wasn't just physics; it was a whispered announcement.
The classroom, when I finally found it after a nerve-wracking journey through corridors that seemed to twist and turn with a life of their own, was already buzzing with the low murmur of voices. Thirty pairs of eyes turned towards me as the teacher, a kind-faced woman with flyaway grey hair, gestured for me to come in. My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic drumbeat only I could feel.
"Class, this is Minami Fujiwara," the teacher announced, her voice clear, and I watched her lips carefully. "She's a transfer student. Please make her feel welcome."
A wave of nods, a few curious smiles. I bowed, my long pink hair falling forward to hide my burning cheeks. Don't be a burden. Make a good impression. The familiar litany ran through my mind.
The teacher, Ms. Sato, pointed to an empty desk near the window, in the second row. As I made my way there, acutely aware of every gaze, I clutched my notebook tighter. Someone giggled. I kept my eyes fixed on the floor.
Settling into my seat, I pulled out my notebook and a pencil. Ms. Sato had asked me earlier if I wanted to introduce myself. I'd written back, 'Yes, if that's okay. I can write it on the board, or you can read it out for me?' She'd smiled and said she would read it.
She picked up the single sheet of paper I'd prepared last night, words I'd rewritten a dozen times.
"Minami has written a little introduction for us," Ms. Sato said, her gaze sweeping across the class before returning to the paper. "She says: 'Hello everyone. My name is Minami Fujiwara. I am deaf, so I communicate using Japanese Sign Language and by writing. I am looking forward to learning with you all at Meisei Magic Academy. Please be patient with me. Thank you.'"
The silence that followed felt heavier than any sound. I risked a glance up. A few students were looking at me with open curiosity, some with a kind of polite blankness. One girl with bright orange pigtails was whispering to her friend, her hand cupped over her mouth. My stomach twisted. Here we go again.
Then, a boy in the row ahead of me, near the window, turned slightly. He had messy, sky-blue hair that fell across his forehead, and when he shifted, his eyes met mine for a fleeting second. They were a calm, kind blue, and there was no pity in them, no judgment that I could see. Just… observation. He offered a small, almost imperceptible nod before turning back to the front. Haru, his name tag read. I'd noticed him briefly when I walked in; he'd been looking out the window, seemingly lost in thought.
Ms. Sato started the lesson, something about the foundational energies of the local region, and how Meisei Academy was uniquely situated to study their more… subtle manifestations. My knowledge of magic was limited to fantastical novels and the hushed, slightly awed tones people used when they spoke of this school. I tried to follow, watching Ms. Sato's lips, catching phrases about ley lines and ambient resonance. It was fascinating, but the effort of concentrating so hard, of deciphering speech from fleeting movements, was already tiring.
During a brief pause when Ms. Sato was writing on the chalkboard, I let my gaze drift out the window. The cherry blossoms were still falling, a silent, endless cascade of pink. My hands rested on my open notebook, fingers slightly curled. Almost unconsciously, my right hand moved, thumb and forefinger forming a circle, the other three fingers extended and slightly separated – the JSL sign for 'flower' or 'blossom.' As I formed the sign, a single petal, caught in an updraft, seemed to hesitate right outside the window, hovering for a second longer than physics should allow before it was whisked away.
I blinked. My hand dropped. Did I just see that? Or am I just… imagining things again? Making things worse? A familiar anxiety tightened my chest. It was probably just a trick of the light, a wishful thought. Magic wasn't in the twitch of a finger, was it? Not my fingers, anyway.
Lunchtime arrived with a cacophony of scraping chairs and cheerful chatter that I felt as vibrations through the floorboards. Most students gathered in chattering groups, their laughter a series of sharp, percussive bursts in my awareness. I pulled out my bento, my mother's carefully arranged rice and vegetables suddenly unappetizing. The initial hope from the morning felt like a distant memory, fragile as a soap bubble.
I ate alone at my desk, pretending to be absorbed in a textbook. I could feel eyes on me occasionally, quick glances quickly averted. The isolation was a familiar cloak, heavy and suffocating. It's okay, I told myself, the words a silent mantra. I just need to smile. Don't make them uncomfortable.
From the corner of my eye, I saw the blue-haired boy, Haru, eating with a couple of other quiet students. He didn't look my way again, but I remembered that brief, neutral glance from earlier. It was a tiny speck of light in the overwhelming grey of my anxiety.
The rest of the day passed in a blur of new faces, new rules, and the constant strain of trying to keep up. When the final bell chimed, its vibrations signalling freedom, I packed my bag, my shoulders aching with a tension I hadn't realized I was carrying.
Stepping back out into the late afternoon sun, the cherry blossoms were still falling. I paused under one of the laden trees near the school gate, the petals brushing against my hair and uniform like soft whispers. Whispers in my hands. The phrase drifted through my mind. That was what JSL felt like to me – a language of whispers made visible, a way to give voice to the silence.
I held out my hand, palm up, and a single petal landed softly in the center.
Meisei Magic Academy.
It was beautiful, and a little frightening.
I hope, I thought, the wish forming slowly, carefully, like one of my written sentences, I hope I can find a place here.
The petal in my palm seemed to glow faintly for an instant before the light faded, leaving just the delicate pink against my skin. Or maybe, I was just hoping too hard.