Souta Ren
Sayuri Misaki didn't shatter.
I thought she might. When Kaori turned her full attention on her the kind of gaze that tears people apart without raising a voice I braced for it. For Sayuri to disappear again, to shrink back into herself. But she didn't.
She looked Kaori in the eye. And she didn't flinch.
That moment hasn't left me since. It sits in my chest like a breath I forgot to release. Because Sayuri quiet, invisible, easily overlooked stood her ground.
And now, I can't stop seeing her.
Not just noticing her.
Seeing.
She still wears that baggy sweatshirt. Still sits in the same place in class. Still walks with her head slightly lowered, sleeves pulled over her hands like she's shielding herself from the world.
But there's a difference now.
A weight.
A quiet strength.
Like she's building something inside her, and Kaori's words couldn't knock it down.
I caught her eye this morning between periods. It was only a glance, barely a second—but it hit like thunder.
She wasn't looking for me.
She wasn't looking away either.
And when our eyes met, something passed between us again. Not a question. Not a confession. Just a stillness. A knowing.
I'm still here.
I'm not afraid.
Are you?
And I didn't know how to answer.
Because the truth is… I might be.
Not of Kaori. Not of what people will say.
But of what happens next.
Because once you really see someone, you can't go back to pretending you didn't.
And I see her now.
All of her.
Kaori, on the other hand, has stopped pretending.
She no longer sugarcoats her smiles. Doesn't try to keep her voice sweet when she speaks to me. It's sharper now coated in ice, edged with jealousy.
She drapes herself over my desk in the morning like she's reclaiming territory.
Asks questions she already knows the answer to.
Leaves notes in my locker.
Touches my arm too often.
It used to work.
It doesn't anymore.
Because the more she pushes, the more I find myself pulling away.
And pulling toward Sayuri.
I keep thinking about the café.
How she sat across from me with her fingers curled around her cup, not saying much but saying everything.
How silence with her never felt empty.
How being with her felt like I was finally allowed to stop pretending.
I think she felt it too.
And now, I want more of it.
More glances.
More almosts.
More of the quiet that feels like home.
After school, I don't go straight home.
My feet take me there on their own.
To that coffee shop with the soft lighting and cracked windowpane. The one that smells like cinnamon and overbrewed espresso and faintly of rain today.
I order her usual and mine.
Two cups.
One moment waiting to happen.
I sit by the window.
Watch the condensation streak the glass. The sky is gray but glowing a soft kind of melancholy that matches the feeling in my chest.
I don't know if she'll come.
But part of me believes she will.
And then-
The bell chimes.
I turn.
She walks in.
Sayuri looks the same and somehow entirely different.
Sweatshirt sleeves over her hands. Hair slightly damp from the mist outside. Her gaze steady.
She sees me.
And she doesn't hesitate.
She walks right to the table.
Doesn't ask why I'm here.
Doesn't look surprised.
She just sits.
And it's quiet.
But not awkward.
Not forced.
It's warm.
Safe.
The kind of silence you miss when it's gone.
I slide the drink toward her.
She nods once. Says nothing.
We sit there for a while. Just existing.
In the hum of background music.
In the gentle clinking of spoons.
In the spaces between our glances.
It's nothing dramatic.
Nothing loud.
But it feels like a beginning.
A fragile thread stretching between us.
And I want to hold on to it.
Because whatever this is, whatever it's becoming I think we're both finally ready to let it grow.
Together.