As usual, I woke up early, the dim morning light filtering through the window. The world outside was still quiet, except for the faint chirping of birds greeting the new day. Pulling on my running shoes, I stepped out into the brisk air, feeling the cool breeze against my skin. The streets were empty, save for a few early risers going about their routines. Each step along the pavement felt rhythmic, almost meditative, as if the stillness of the morning absorbed all the chaos in my head.

After my run, I returned home, showered, and ate a modest breakfast. The simple taste of rice and miso soup was comforting, though I could barely enjoy it. My mind was already preoccupied with the day ahead. Slinging my bag over my shoulder, I stepped out once again, greeted by a serene spring morning. The streets were lined with cherry blossom trees, their petals fluttering down like snow, carpeting the ground in delicate pink hues.

The sight was undeniably breathtaking, as if the world itself was dressed in beauty for no one in particular. The air carried a faint floral scent that would have lifted anyone’s mood—anyone but me. For someone like me, this beauty felt wasted. It was as if the world painted a canvas of joy while my soul was draped in gray. Still, I couldn’t help but admire it, even if from a distance, like gazing at a work of art I knew I would never understand.

I chose the longer path to school today, one that traced the riverbank and meandered through a park. The sunlight glimmered off the water’s surface, its gentle ripples catching the light like scattered diamonds. Children played in the park, their laughter ringing out freely, untainted by the harshness of life. For a brief moment, I paused, taking in the scene before me. It was...peaceful, yet alien—a world of brightness that seemed to reject someone like me, weighed down by shadows.

Still, I walked on, the faint scent of Sakura trailing me as if beckoning me to step into a world that wasn’t mine. The school loomed closer, its gates wide open, welcoming students to another ordinary day. To everyone else, this day might have felt perfect—basking in the glow of spring’s arrival. But for me, it was just another day to endure.The classroom is already alive with chatter when I walk in, though I barely pay attention. My usual seat by the window offers a small comfort, a slight barrier from the chaos around me.

I notice Akira in the corner, sketching in her notebook. Her pencil moves gracefully, shaping something I can’t quite make out. She’s always observing, always creating.

When I step into the room, I catch her looking at me. Her gaze lingers—not the judgmental kind I’ve grown used to, but something different. Curiosity, maybe? Or pity?

I don’t linger on it. People are always watching, always making their assumptions. Akira is no different.

****Akira****

I notice Akihiko step into the room, and for a moment, my pencil halts. It’s strange how he doesn’t need to say anything for people to notice him. He moves through the space with a kind of quiet authority, like he’s in a world of his own.

I glance up, and our eyes meet briefly. His look is fleeting, almost distant, but I catch it—just for a second. It’s not the kind of look I’m used to, the judgment or pity that others often direct toward me. It’s more... neutral. Curious, maybe?

I can’t help but wonder why he always keeps to himself. I’ve heard the whispers, of course. They say he thinks he’s better than everyone, that he keeps his distance because he doesn’t care. But I’ve always wondered if there’s more to it than that. There has to be, right? No one can be that detached without a reason.

I’ve heard the rumors from middle school too—the ones about the library incident, where Akihiko allegedly assaulted a classmate. They say he lost control over some minor disagreement, but I’ve always felt like there had to be more to it. Did he really snap like that? Or was there something else that no one bothered to understand?

And then there’s the money scandal. The one where he supposedly stole money from Tatsuya—they say it was to cover for something else, but no one could ever prove it. Tatsuya spread that lie like wildfire, and after that, Akihiko’s reputation was shattered. How could anyone believe something like that without even questioning it? No one seemed to care whether he was innocent. They just labeled him as a thief, a troublemaker, and that was enough.

I don’t know what happened back then, but I can’t bring myself to fully accept those rumors. They never gave him a chance to explain? What if he wasn’t the one at fault? People are so quick to judge him, but I can’t help but feel there’s more to it—more to him than the stories everyone tells.

I watch him for a moment as he settles into his seat, his expression unreadable. There’s something about the way he carries himself—so calm, so controlled. It’s like he’s shut everyone out, but why? What made him like this?

I don’t let myself dwell too much on it. It’s not my business. Besides, it’s just curiosity, nothing more. People are always so quick to judge him, but there’s something about him that feels… different. Maybe I’m just imagining it, but I can’t help but feel like there’s more to the story.

The bell rings, pulling me out of my thoughts. I return to my sketching, but even as I focus on the lines on the page, my mind lingers on him, just for a moment.

****Akira****

The bell rings, and the teacher walks in, saving me from whatever thoughts she might’ve been having.

Lunchtime is predictable. I sit under the same tree, eating the same bento.

A group of classmates approaches. I can see their hesitance, the way they shuffle awkwardly.

"Hey, Akihiko," one of them starts. "That was amazing earlier. Do you tutor?"

"No," I reply without looking up.

They try again, inviting me to join their lunch. I decline. The conversation dies quickly, and they leave.

From the corner of my eye, I catch Tatsuya watching. His smirk is unmistakable.

"Don’t waste your time," he says loudly enough for them to hear. "He thinks he’s better than everyone."

Their laughter stings, though I don’t show it.

"This is why I keep my distance. People only approach to take, to hurt. It’s safer this way."

After school I head straight to the bookstore The soft creak of the wooden floor greets me as I step inside the bookstore. Shelves brimming with stories tower around me, their spines lined up in neat rows, creating a labyrinth of quietude. The faint scent of old pages mingles with the occasional trace of lavender—an aroma I suspect Mr. Takahashi subtly adds to the air.

He’s already there, seated behind the counter with his nose in a book. Mr. Takahashi rarely speaks, and when he does, his words are clipped, practical. But I’ve come to understand him in the silence we share.

I quietly begin my work, stacking new arrivals onto the shelves, dusting the higher sections, and fixing the occasional misplaced volume. He doesn’t look up, but I can sense the way his presence anchors the room.

*****Mr. Takahashi*****
I watch the boy from the corner of my eye. Akihiko comes in, always on time, always quiet. He works diligently, more focused than anyone his age has any right to be. He’s an enigma—a good-looking young man with not a single friend who’s ever come by or waited for him outside.

The first time I saw him, I was struck by the look in his eyes. A boy his age shouldn't carry that kind of weight. It was as if the world had taken something from him far too soon, leaving only shadows behind. I wonder sometimes what happened to him. Perhaps, eventually, he’ll open up. I hope he will.

A customer walks in, the bell above the door jingling softly. Mr. Takahashi acknowledges them with a curt nod, a gesture that somehow feels warmer than any greeting I’ve heard.

I focus on my tasks, letting the rhythm of work pull me into a rare sense of peace. The quiet of the bookstore feels different from the silences I carry—it doesn’t accuse, doesn’t push.

When my shift ends, I place the duster back on its hook and glance at Mr. Takahashi. He doesn’t look up, but I nod anyway before stepping out into the crisp evening air.

He nods as he leaves, like always. A quiet acknowledgment that feels heavier than it should. What goes through his mind, I wonder? Whatever it is, I hope this place gives him a little bit of peace.

*****Mr. Takahashi*****