But then my eyes drifted.

Tsukiko was surrounded by her friends, their desks pulled together in a loose circle. I hadn’t noticed before that how easily she fits in there—her smile polite, her laughter soft, her replies gentle. She seemed… different.

Not the same Tsukiko who sat on the rooftop with me, throwing playful jabs, laughing freely, eyes glowing like the sky itself. Here, she was a bit careful. Collected. A version of herself smoothed out for the crowd but still pure for her friends.

And yet, even like this, I couldn’t look away.

“Tsukiko,” one of her friends teased, leaning closer. “You’ve been disappearing a lot lately. Where do you sneak off to?”

I felt my chest tighten. My ears strained, betraying my calm face.

I could clearly see the embarrassment on her face. Her lips parted as if to answer, but another friend cut in with a grin. “Wait… don’t tell me. Is it someone special? A boyfriend?”

The words crashed into me like a stone thrown into still water.

Tsukiko froze, her hands fidgeting with the edge of her notebook. Her face slowly turned pink, then crimson. She looked down, hiding in the curtain of her hair.

“I… I don’t know,” she whispered, almost too soft for anyone to hear.

"Maybe there is."

Then—she glanced up.

Not at her friends.

At me sitting behind her a few desks.

Her eyes, wide and innocent, carried a trembling warmth. Her cheeks were still burning red, and in that instant, it was as though every sound in the classroom dissolved.

The world shrank to just her gaze—and me.

Heat rushed to my face before I could stop it. My heart thudded loud enough I was sure someone could hear. I dropped my eyes to the desk, suddenly unable to breathe right, my hand gripping the pencil too tight.

I didn’t know what her friends saw. I didn’t know what they thought.

But I knew what I felt.

That single glance—fragile, flustered, yet unspoken—said more than words ever could.

And for the first time, I realized:

I wasn’t the only one afraid of this strange, growing closeness.

---

On hearing her shy, embarrassed response, the girls froze in surprise. But it wasn’t just them—the boys in class reacted too.

Tsukiko wasn’t just any classmate. She was the main attraction of the room—the girl so beautiful, so gentle, so innocent, that anyone could fall for her. And in that single answer, their hearts seemed to shatter.

Just as another storm of questions began to build, her best friend, Aya, leaned forward with an exasperated sigh.

“C’mon, girls. Quiet. Stop trying to fill her up with juicy stories—keep these silly fantasies to yourselves.”

The laughter died down, the questions faded, and the moment broke like glass underfoot.

Still, even after the heat cooled and everyone returned to their chatter, I saw her.

Her cheeks remained flushed pink, her gaze fixed shyly on her desk.

And me?

I wasn’t much better. My face burned crimson, and my chest was still tangled in that single glance she had given me.

This wasn’t a fantasy.

This really happened.

Something indirect, but undeniably real.

---