The progress we seemed to be making – the comfortable moments, the subtle hints of unexpected feelings – felt incredibly fragile. And as it turns out, it was. The outside world, with its rumors and scrutiny, was always ready to interfere.
The trouble started with a whisper that grew into a loud, awkward conversation. I heard it from a couple of my classmates, talking just loud enough for me to overhear.
"...Yeah, I heard Yamato-san was actually forced into it," one guy said.
"Forced? By Tanaka?" the other replied, sounding surprised.
"Not exactly forced by him," the first clarified. "But like... her family or someone pressured her because of that weird old club her grandma founded. And Tanaka was just... available, I guess. Like a temporary solution until she can find someone better or the club problem is solved."
My stomach twisted. It was a new version of the 'it's fake' rumor, but this one added layers of familial pressure on Sakura-san and painted me as a mere 'temporary solution.' It felt cold and dismissive of... everything we were doing, everything we were starting to feel.
Just as this lovely piece of gossip reached my ears, I saw Sakura-san walking down the hallway towards me, her usual radiant self. My mind, however, was suddenly filled with doubt and confusion. Is that it? Is she just going through the motions because of family pressure? Was I just the most convenient person she could find?
She smiled as she approached me. "Tanaka-kun! Perfect timing. I was just coming to find you. Can we go over the skit lines quickly before class?"
Her smile was bright, her tone cheerful and business-like regarding the project. It was the public Sakura Yamato, transitioning smoothly into the 'working on the project with her boyfriend' persona.
But my head was full of the rumors. The words "forced," "family pressure," "temporary solution" were echoing in my mind. I looked at her, and for the first time in a while, I saw not the person I was developing feelings for, but the 'Sakura Yamato,' the idol, potentially trapped by expectations.
My face must have shown my confusion or discomfort. Her smile faltered slightly. "Tanaka-kun? Is something wrong?"
I hesitated. Could I ask her about the rumors? Should I? It might make the fake part too real, or worse, expose my own insecurities and the possibility that I was starting to hope for more. But the doubt was gnawing at me.
"I... I heard something," I started, my voice low. "About... why we're... together."
Her eyes narrowed slightly. Her composure seemed to stiffen, just like when Akane-san was around. "Heard what, Tanaka-kun?"
"Just... rumors," I mumbled, feeling awkward and childish. "About... about you. And the club. That you're... being pressured into this. And that I'm just... a temporary thing."
I watched her face closely. For a moment, her expression was unreadable. Then, a subtle change. Her eyes seemed to grow a little colder. Her jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
"Rumors," she repeated, her voice flat. The warmth was gone.
"Yeah," I said, feeling the gap widen between us. "Is it... is it true, Yamato-san?"
Did her family pressure her? Was I just a convenient placeholder? I needed to know. But asking the question, in that moment, felt like I was questioning her, questioning the genuine moments we had shared, questioning the possibility I thought was starting to bloom.
Her gaze was steady, but felt distant. "What do you think, Tanaka-kun?" she asked, her voice low and devoid of the warmth it had held just moments before. It was the same question she'd used when hinting at 'unexpected love,' but this time, the tone was entirely different. It wasn't an invitation; it felt like a test. A test I was possibly failing.
My mind went blank. I thought of her dedication to the club, her explanation about her grandmother. But I also thought of her position, her family name, the world she came from. The rumors suddenly seemed plausible.
"I... I don't know," I admitted honestly, my voice small. "That's why I'm asking."
My answer seemed to disappoint her. The coldness in her eyes deepened.
"So," she said, her voice quiet, almost disappointed, "you hear a rumor... and you immediately question... everything?"
"No! Not everything!" I protested. "Just... that part. About being pressured. It just... it didn't sound like you." (Which was true, the being forced part didn't sound like her, but the family pressure part felt plausible for the idol Sakura Yamato).
She gave me a look that was hard to decipher – a mix of frustration, sadness, and perhaps a hint of hurt. "You know," she said, her voice barely above a whisper, "after everything... the presentation... the project... the time we've spent... I thought... maybe you would trust me more than a rumor."
Her words cut deeper than any insult. Trust. That was the key. And by asking, by showing my doubt, I had apparently demonstrated a lack of it.
The comfortable ease, the blurring lines, the potential for something real... it all seemed to shatter in that moment. The cold reality of the 'fake' relationship, and the lack of genuine trust that underpinned it, came crashing down.
"Yamato-san, I didn't mean... " I started, but she held up a hand, stopping me.
"It's fine, Tanaka-kun," she said, but her tone was cold and distant. Her public smile was gone. This was a side of her I hadn't seen before – hurt, perhaps, and withdrawing behind a wall. "Let's just... focus on the project. The final presentation is important."
She looked past me, her gaze distant. "I'll... I'll review the skit lines by myself. See you in the clubroom."
She turned and walked away, leaving me standing alone in the hallway, the sounds of students rushing to class a dull roar in my ears.
The space she left beside me felt colder than the late-night clubroom.
My attempt to understand, fueled by confusing rumors and my own burgeoning feelings, had resulted in a complete misunderstanding. I had doubted her, and in doing so, I had damaged the fragile, unspoken connection that was starting to form between us.
The line between pretending and reality was still blurry, but now it was also etched with the sharp, painful lines of doubt and hurt feelings.