Chapter 1 - The Confession No One Heard
The classroom of 2-B was unusually quiet for a Thursday morning. Sunlight filtered through the slightly cracked windows, casting long, golden bars of light onto the worn wooden desks.
Outside, the cherry blossoms had already begun to fall, littering the courtyard like delicate pink confetti, but inside, it was as though time had paused.
Nanami Murakawa sat at her usual seat—the last desk by the window, second row from the back. Her long, dark hair cascaded around her face like a veil, hiding her from the world she didn't want to interact with.
A hardcover novel was balanced on her lap under the desk, her pencil gently scratching the margins with little notes and doodles as she read.
The teacher's voice, droning about classical Japanese literature, was more background noise than instruction.
Nanami had become something of a phantom in the class. Not disliked—no one knew her well enough for that—but rarely acknowledged.
Her grades were excellent, her behavior flawless, and her presence forgettable. That's how she liked it. Invisibility meant safety. No expectations, no attention, no risk.
Which was why the sudden shadow looming beside her desk caused her heart to skip.
"Murakawa-san," a deep, calm voice said.
She looked up slowly, almost hesitantly.
It was him.
Yoshiro Takahashi. The ace of the soccer team, a straight-A student, and the boy whose name floated on the lips of nearly every girl in school at some point or another.
With a body sculpted from years of discipline and a face that looked like it had been taken straight from a shoujo manga, Yoshiro was the last person Nanami expected to talk to her—let alone know her name.
He was standing next to her desk with his hands in his pockets, his expression unreadable but not unfriendly.
"Can I talk to you for a second?" he asked.
Nanami blinked. For a moment, she considered pretending she hadn't heard. But that felt rude. So she gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. Yoshiro gestured toward the hallway.
The class turned to watch. Whispers began to bubble up before the teacher cleared his throat, returning the room to an awkward, buzzing quiet.
Nanami followed him out, clutching her notebook to her chest like a shield. The hallway was empty, the only sound the hum of the overhead lights and the distant shout of a gym teacher outside.
Yoshiro turned to her, rubbing the back of his neck. For the first time, he looked unsure of himself.
"I'm not really good at this kind of thing," he started.
Nanami tilted her head slightly, still not speaking.
"I've... been watching you for a while."
Her eyes widened. Alarm bells rang in her head. What did that mean? Watching? In what way?
"I mean—ah, that came out weird," Yoshiro corrected himself quickly, flustered. "Not like in a creepy way. Just… I noticed you. You're always reading, always drawing. You look like you're in a different world."
She lowered her gaze, unsure how to respond.
"I like that about you," he said, voice more serious now. "You're... different from everyone else. And I think I like you."
The words hung in the air like smoke. Impossible, unreal, delicate.
Nanami felt like her soul had left her body. This had to be a joke. A dare. Some cruel twist of fate.
"I don't understand," she whispered.
Yoshiro took a breath. "I'm not asking for an answer now. I just… wanted you to know. That's all."
She looked up at him then, really looked. His eyes weren't mocking. There was no one around filming, no prank camera, no group of friends snickering nearby. Just him, standing there, honest and bare.
"…Okay," she said softly.
His lips twitched into a small smile.
"Okay," he repeated.
And then, just like that, he walked back into the classroom, leaving Nanami in the quiet hallway with her heart pounding and her world ever so slightly tilted.
...
The rest of the day passed in a haze. She couldn't concentrate. The words on the pages she read blurred, her pen trembled against the paper when she tried to draw.
Her world had always been quiet, still, predictable. Now it felt like someone had thrown a stone into her calm pond.
After school, Nanami lingered longer than usual in the library. It was her safe space—the one place where no one bothered her.
The tall shelves full of books, the scent of paper and dust, the sound of nothing but the occasional page flip—it was peaceful.
She sat in the farthest corner by the window, sketchpad in her lap. She didn't notice that she had begun drawing him—Yoshiro, standing with his hands in his pockets, looking sheepish. She captured his smile, hesitant but kind.
"Murakawa-san?"
She startled, her pencil dragging across the page.
It was him. Again.
He stood at the edge of the library shelf, looking awkward.
"I'm not stalking you, I swear," he said quickly, holding up his hands.
Nanami stared.
"I just… thought maybe I could walk you home?"
She blinked.
"I don't talk much," she mumbled.
"That's okay," he said with a grin. "I talk enough for two."
She hesitated, then slowly closed her sketchbook and stood.
"Okay."
They walked in silence at first, down the tree-lined streets leading to her neighborhood. The air was cool, the sun beginning to dip below the buildings.
"Your drawing," he said suddenly. "It's really good."
She looked at him sharply. "You saw it?"
"Only a little." He rubbed the back of his neck again. "Sorry."
She looked away, face pink. "It's nothing."
"It's not nothing. It's… I dunno, it feels alive."
She didn't know what to say to that.
They reached her street. She stopped and turned to him.
"Thank you," she said.
"For walking you?"
"For noticing me," she said. "No one ever has before."
He looked stunned for a second, then smiled.
"You're hard not to notice, Nanami."
It was the first time he said her name.
Her chest tightened. Something new had begun. Something terrifying and wonderful.
And she had no idea what would come next.
But for the first time in a long time, she wanted to find out.