As I pushed open the door, I froze in the doorway. There, standing at the counter, was Haruna.

She didn’t turn when I walked in, her fingers lightly tracing over some papers she was organizing. I felt an awkward twinge—did she not realize it was me? Part of me wanted to speak up, but before I could say anything, she called out.

“Welcome to the nurse’s office,” she said, her tone calm but slightly distant. “What seems to be the problem?”

I blinked. She definitely hadn’t recognized me. She was treating me like any other student that wandered in here. Maybe that was for the best.

"Uh... I don’t feel well," I replied, a little too awkwardly.

Haruna paused for a second, as if she were trying to sense what kind of "not feeling well" I meant. "Not feeling well?" she asked, turning slightly in my direction. "You can take one of the beds. Go ahead and lie down if that helps."

Her calm, almost professional tone caught me off guard. I wasn’t used to being treated like some regular student. But I shrugged it off, nodding and heading over to the small bed near the window. The whole room had that faint medicinal smell that all nurse's offices seem to have, a weird mix of rubbing alcohol and something vaguely sweet. I plopped down on the bed, letting out a long sigh.

I shifted around, trying to get comfortable, but the nurse’s bed felt like it was stuffed with bricks. The kind of mattress that makes you think the school board bought it on sale from a prison clearance event. I tossed and turned, awkwardly trying to find a position that didn’t feel like it was going to snap my spine in half.

Still, I was determined to sleep off this day. I closed my eyes, breathing in and out, focusing on relaxing. My body finally started to sink into the bed.

But then, of course, my mind wouldn’t shut up.

You gave away 100 million yen, genius. My brain decided to remind me. You could’ve bought a car. Or a house. Or a lifetime supply of yakisoba bread.

I groaned, rolling onto my side, tugging the thin blanket over me like it would somehow block out my thoughts.

But you didn’t even think twice about it, I reminded myself. You did something good, didn’t you?

I sighed, knowing full well I wouldn’t let this go. One minute I was regretting it, and the next I was convincing myself it was the right thing. My mind was playing tug-of-war with my conscience, and there was no end in sight.

Just as I was about to give up on sleep entirely, Haruna’s voice drifted across the room.

"Is the bed uncomfortable?"

Her question caught me off guard. "Uh, yeah. A bit," I admitted, staring up at the ceiling. “Feels like I’m sleeping on a rock.”

Haruna let out a quiet laugh, the kind that you don’t expect to hear in such a sterile room. “Sorry about that. The nurse’s office isn’t known for its luxury accommodations.”

"Yeah, I can tell," I muttered. "What do you do if someone actually has to sleep here for a while?"

She smiled, her head tilting in my direction, though her gaze didn’t quite reach me. "They usually don’t come here for comfort."

I chuckled. She wasn’t wrong. “Well, I guess I’m not here for comfort either.”

There was a pause, and I wasn’t sure if she was going to say something else. I pulled the blanket up over my shoulders, trying to get comfortable again, but my mind was still buzzing. I could feel Haruna moving around the room, quietly going about her tasks. There was something oddly soothing about the sound of papers shuffling and the soft taps of her cane against the floor.

For a moment, I let myself imagine that this was just a normal day. That I wasn’t drowning in yakuza debts, that I hadn’t just given away all the money I’d saved for my future. That I could just be a high school student lying down in the nurse’s office, tired from gym class.

A small smile tugged at the corner of my lips. I closed my eyes and exhaled slowly. Maybe for now, I could pretend. Just for a little while.

Haruna continued to move around the room, organizing supplies and quietly tidying up. The soft clinks of glass jars and the shuffle of papers filled the space, adding to the oddly peaceful atmosphere. Just when I thought the conversation had drifted into silence, she spoke up again.

“Your voice,” she said, her tone thoughtful. “It sounds… familiar. Have we met before?”

My stomach twisted. She was sharp, I’d give her that. I froze for a second, keeping my eyes fixed on the ceiling. For a moment, I considered lying—just brushing it off like any other awkward interaction. But something about the way she said it… there was a softness in her voice, like she wasn’t accusing me of anything, just genuinely curious.

I weighed my options. Telling her it was me, the same guy who had stepped in yesterday could complicate things. The last thing I wanted was to get involved in more questions, especially now, when I already had enough on my plate. But if I didn’t tell her… well, I didn’t like the idea of lying either.

“Uh…” I started, clearing my throat, buying myself a few extra seconds. “Maybe? I mean… I’ve been around.”

Smooth. Real smooth.

“You might have seen me around campus,” I added, hoping to steer the conversation back into safer territory. “But I guess I just have one of those forgettable voices.”

And then it hit me. I blinked, realizing my mistake. She’s blind, you idiot.

Without thinking, I smacked my palm to my forehead, groaning inwardly at my own stupidity. Luckily, Haruna couldn’t see me make the gesture, but the sound of my hand hitting my head wasn’t exactly subtle.

“Are you okay?” she asked, clearly confused.

“Yeah, yeah,” I muttered, rubbing the spot where I’d hit myself. “Just, uh, forgot something for a second there.”

Haruna tilted her head slightly, as if trying to make sense of my sudden odd behavior, but she let it go with a soft smile. “I think I’d remember your voice, even if I haven’t seen you,” she said lightly.

I felt my face heat up again. Why did everything feel so awkward with her? It wasn’t like I had a problem with other people figuring me out, but with Haruna, it was different. Maybe because she was the only person I’d ever stepped in to help, or maybe because she didn’t see me like the others did—as some thug, some lowlife.

“Well, maybe we’ve crossed paths before,” I mumbled, trying to recover. “Campus isn’t that big, after all.”

I swallowed hard, feeling the weight of the moment press down on me. She was persistent in the most gentle way possible. I could feel her curiosity, but at the same time, she wasn’t pushing too hard.

Before I could decide how to respond, Haruna turned back to her work, almost as if she was letting me off the hook. “Well, either way, it’s nice to know someone else skips P.E.,” she added, her tone light and playful.

I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. “Yeah, well, not really my thing, you know?”

She smiled, and I could feel the tension between us ease a little. I hadn’t given her a straight answer, but she seemed to accept it, at least for now.

I stared up at the ceiling, my mind still running in circles. Her words, her voice—they felt calming in a way that didn’t quite make sense to me. Maybe it was because she didn’t know who I really was. Or maybe it was because she seemed to exist in a different world from mine, a quieter one, untouched by the weight of the life I carried.

“Thanks,” I said softly, surprising myself with how genuine I sounded.

Haruna tilted her head, clearly surprised by my sudden shift in tone. “For what?”

“For… not pushing,” I said, my voice trailing off. “Most people don’t really know when to back off.”

She smiled again, this time softer. “I understand. Sometimes, you just need space.”

For a second, I wanted to say more. I wanted to tell her who I was, to explain that I wasn’t just some random guy skipping class. I wanted to tell her about the yakuza, the money, the debts, the weight of everything that had been crushing me since I was a kid.

But instead, I just nodded, letting the silence settle between us once more.

She seemed content with that, going back to her quiet organizing, and I closed my eyes again, trying to relax.

Just as I felt myself start to drift off, Haruna spoke again, her voice soft and thoughtful.

“You remind me of someone I met once. Someone who helped me when I was in trouble.”

My eyes snapped open, but I stayed silent, waiting to see where she was going with this.

“He didn’t say much,” she continued, almost to herself now. “But he stepped in when no one else would. I’ve never forgotten that day. His name was Yuki.”

My heart skipped a beat. She remembered. Of course, she did. We had already exchanged names when we first met. She wasn’t just talking about some random guy; she was talking about me.

I shifted slightly under the blanket, trying to act casual. “Yuki, huh? Sounds like a good guy.”

Haruna let out a small laugh, and even though she couldn’t see me, I felt exposed, like she somehow knew I was dodging her, trying to stay hidden.

“He was,” she said quietly. “But what really stood out to me… was how different he was from other people. Most people either ignore me or treat me differently once they realize I’m blind. It’s like they feel sorry for me or don’t know how to act around me. But Yuki…” Her voice softened, and I could hear the warmth in her words. “…he didn’t pity me. He treated me like any other person, almost like he forgot I was blind half the time.”

I chuckled nervously, scratching the back of my head. “Sounds like he wasn’t the most observant guy.”

She smiled at that, letting out a soft laugh. “Maybe not. But that’s what I liked. For once, I didn’t feel like I was being handled with kid gloves. I didn’t feel like I was being treated differently because of my blindness. He didn’t act like I was fragile or needed special treatment—he just treated me like… well, like me. That’s what made him stand out.”

Her words hit me harder than I expected. All that time, I thought I’d messed up, fumbled my way through that whole encounter—asking her for directions like an idiot and only realizing she was blind after the fact. But to her, it was something else entirely. Something that made her feel normal, like she wasn’t defined by her condition.

Haruna continued, her voice growing a little softer. “People don’t usually see me that way. Even when they’re trying to be kind, there’s always this layer of pity, like they’re afraid I’ll break. But with Yuki… it wasn’t like that. He made me feel like I was just another person. I never got to thank him properly for that.”

I shifted uncomfortably under the blanket, feeling the weight of her words and the secret I was keeping. I thought maybe I could just stay quiet, that she didn’t need to know it was me. But hearing her talk about that day with such sincerity made me wonder if hiding was the right thing.

The silence stretched between us, and for a moment, I thought about telling her the truth. Telling her it was me. But as the thought crossed my mind, something held me back. I didn’t know if I was ready to let her see that part of me—the part that wasn’t just some guy who had helped her out of a bad situation but someone with a much darker side.

“Anyway,” she said after a moment, her voice lightening, “whoever he was, I’m glad he was there. People like that don’t come around often.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat and forced a smile, even though she couldn’t see it. “Yeah, well, sometimes we all end up in the right place at the right time.”

We sat in a comfortable silence for a few moments, the sounds of the nurse’s office—a distant hum of machinery, the soft rustling of papers—filling the space. But I could feel a question burning at the back of my mind, and despite everything, I couldn’t help but ask it.

“You don’t have to answer this if you don’t want to,” I started, shifting under the blanket, trying to sound casual, “but… I’ve been wondering. Is your blindness something you’ve always had?”

I wasn’t sure how she’d react. I didn’t want to offend her or make her uncomfortable, but I was curious. There was something about the way she carried herself—so independent, so calm—that made me forget, sometimes, about her condition.

Haruna didn’t seem bothered by the question. In fact, she took it in stride, like it was something she’d had to explain a thousand times before.

“I don’t mind,” she said softly. “It’s not a secret or anything. I wasn’t born blind, if that’s what you’re asking. I have corneal blindness. My vision started deteriorating when I was around ten.”

I raised an eyebrow, surprised by how easily she said it. “Corn…? Corneal blindness?”

She nodded. “Yeah, it’s caused by damage to the cornea. It’s… well, I can’t see much now. Everything’s just a blur of shadows and light. But it wasn’t always like that. I used to be able to see clearly, just like anyone else.”

I watched her as she spoke, the way her fingers gently traced the edge of the desk, as if she were grounding herself in the details of the story.

“What happened?” I asked, my voice quieter now.

Haruna hesitated for a second, then continued. “It was an accident. Something happened when I was younger, and the damage couldn’t be reversed. They told me I could get a transplant, but those things take a long time. And even then, there’s no guarantee it’ll work.”

Her voice was calm, but I could feel the weight of what she was saying. She wasn’t just talking about losing her sight—she was talking about losing a part of her life, a future where she might’ve seen the world differently.

“I’ve learned to live with it,” she said after a pause. “It was hard at first, but… you get used to it. You learn to adapt.”

I found myself staring at her, trying to understand how someone could just adapt to something like that. It felt impossible, but here she was, standing in front of me, quietly organizing supplies in a nurse’s office, as if she’d made peace with the whole thing.

“That’s… a lot to deal with,” I muttered, not sure what else to say.