There's a difference between being seen and being looked at.
I've been looked at my whole life.
Girls glance at my face, at my shoulders, at the way I walk. Teachers look at my test scores. "Friends" like Itsuki and Yuto look at the image I wear like armor.
But none of them really see me.
They look for the version they've created the one who always smiles, always helps, never breaks.
And for a long time, I let them.
But Sayuri… today, she didn't look at me.
She looked into me.
And now I don't think I'll ever forget how that felt.
It happened in homeroom.
She changed seats.
Just one row closer.
No one else noticed. Why would they? She's quiet. Invisible, most days. The kind of person people bump into without apology.
But I noticed.
Because I always do.
Her usual desk by the window sat untouched. And there she was closer now, within reach if I leaned back in my chair.
At first I thought it was a coincidence.
But then, halfway through announcements, I felt it.
Eyes on me.
My chest tightened.
I looked up.
And she was looking right at me.
Not by accident.
Not one of those passing glances people toss around in a crowded room.
It was a choice.
Her eyes were steady, uncertain but steady.
And for a second, the noise around me dropped out.
It was just her and me.
No fake friends. No expectations.
Just her eyes and my heartbeat.
Then, as if she realized what she'd done, she looked away.
Quickly. Too quickly.
But not fast enough to erase what it had meant.
She saw me.
The real me.
The boy who wipes down café counters just to feel useful.
The boy who writes letters he never sends.
The boy who sat across from her while she was breaking and said nothing because he didn't want to be another voice demanding something from her.
She saw that version.
And she didn't flinch.
I spent the rest of the morning trying not to think about it.
Failed, obviously.
Every time she shifted in her seat, I noticed.
When her pencil slipped off the desk and she bent to pick it up, I almost got up too.
When she brushed her hair back behind her ear and glanced out the window, I followed her gaze without meaning to.
And every time my eyes found hers again, she looked away a little slower.
Not out of fear.
But something else.
Curiosity, maybe.
A question, still unspoken.
I wonder if she felt it too.
That shift.
Like we're standing at the edge of something something that could change us.
Something that already is.
After school, I waited by the bike rack just long enough to pretend I wasn't.
I saw her walking with her head slightly down, bag slung over one shoulder, steps light like she was trying not to be noticed.
I didn't say anything.
Just watched her pass.
And just before she turned the corner, she glanced back.
Right at me.
This time, she didn't look away.
Not immediately.
She gave me a full second.
Maybe two.
And in those seconds, I forgot what pretending felt like.
I think I smiled.
I think she almost did too.
Then she disappeared around the wall and out of sight.
And I stood there, hands in my pockets, wondering
Was that her way of saying she sees me too?
Because if it was…
Then maybe I'm not the only one falling anymore.