The classroom was quiet during lunch break, most students having already gone to the cafeteria. Only a handful remained, eating at their desks or chatting in low voices.
Hayato sat alone, tapping the end of his pencil against the margin of his notebook. He hadn't even touched his lunch. Instead, his eyes drifted to the bag beside Aiko's desk across the room.
His notebook was inside.
She had returned it yesterday, but not before reading the poem—his poem. Since then, every glance, every word exchanged between them seemed to carry a weight he couldn't name.
"Spacing out again?"
Aiko's voice pulled him back. She stood over his desk, holding her bento in one hand, her smile casual but her gaze sharp, as though she could see straight through him.
Hayato coughed lightly, closing the notebook in front of him. "Just… thinking."
"Mm. Thinking, or writing another secret poem?" she teased, setting her bento down and sitting across from him.
Hayato felt his ears grow warm. "It wasn't secret. You weren't supposed to—"
"To read it?" Aiko interrupted, tilting her head. "Maybe. But I'm glad I did."
Her chopsticks hovered above her food as she added, quieter this time, "It felt honest. Like you were writing to someone important."
Hayato froze. His heart pounded so loudly he worried she could hear it. "It's not… I mean, it wasn't—"
Aiko leaned forward, her expression soft but mischievous. "You don't have to explain, Hayato. I think I understand."
Her words settled between them, heavy and gentle all at once. Hayato didn't know whether to feel relieved or terrified. Did she really understand? Did she realize the poem had been about her?
The silence stretched until Aiko broke it with a small laugh, lifting her chopsticks. "Don't look so serious. It's just a poem."
But the way her eyes lingered on him said otherwise.
Hayato lowered his gaze, gripping his pencil tightly. If it's just a poem… then why does it feel like she's waiting for me to say more?
Outside, the schoolyard buzzed with distant voices, but inside the classroom, the world felt narrowed to just the two of them, with a notebook full of unspoken words lying like a secret bridge between their desks.