Morning sunlight poured into the classroom, brightening the rows of desks. Students drifted in with half-awake greetings, the sound of chatter mixing with the scrape of chairs. Aoi Takahashi sat at her desk, chin in her hand, watching the scene with a faint detachment.
It had only been a short time since she transferred here. Everyone else already seemed to have their own small circles, conversations running smoothly around her. They were not unkind, but she felt like she was floating somewhere outside of it all.
Her thoughts slipped back to yesterday afternoon. The art room. The boy sitting at the easel, pencil moving carefully across paper. Fujimoto Haruki. He had barely spoken, but the memory of his calm expression and quiet presence had stayed with her longer than she expected.
By the time the lunch bell rang, Aoi found herself standing in front of the art room again. The door was partly open, and the familiar smell of paint drifted out. She slid it wider and stepped inside.
Haruki was there, as if he had been waiting though she knew that was not the case. He stood by the shelves, placing sketching tools back into their boxes, his movements careful and steady.
He noticed her quickly. "Takahashi san," he said, his voice even. "You came again."
"Why do you sound so surprised?" Aoi replied with a half smile. "It was either here or the cafeteria. The cafeteria food looks suspicious."
Haruki allowed the smallest trace of a smile. "It is not that bad."
Aoi dropped her bag onto a desk and leaned back in the chair, glancing around the room. Canvases leaned against the walls, some half finished, others abandoned. Brushes rested in jars of cloudy water, and the faint scratch of pencil marks seemed to linger in the air.
"So this is your place," she said. "The art room. Always quiet, always the same. Don't you get tired of it?"
Haruki shook his head without hesitation. "No. Quiet is fine."
"Quiet is boring," Aoi teased, tilting her head. "You really like being alone with your thoughts that much?"
He paused for a moment, then met her gaze. "When I draw, it is not boring."
There was no boast in his voice, only truth. Aoi leaned forward, intrigued.
"Then show me," she said. "Show me some of your other arts?"
Haruki glanced at the sketchbook resting on the desk. For a moment he did not move, as if deciding whether to trust her. Slowly, he picked it up, opened it, and placed it on the table between them.
Aoi leaned closer, her eyes widening slightly.
It was a sketch of the school hallway, but not as she usually saw it. His lines had given life to the ordinary, turning the dull corridor into something softer, something worth noticing.
She looked up at him. "You really are good, you know."
Haruki gave a quiet shrug, but his ears reddened slightly.
Aoi grinned. "So modest. If I could draw like this, I would be bragging to the entire class."
"That would be pointless," Haruki replied simply, closing the book. "Drawing is not about showing off."
Aoi raised an eyebrow. "Maybe not, but it is about sharing, right? Otherwise no one sees what you see."
For a moment Haruki did not answer. His fingers brushed against the edge of the sketchbook, and his gaze moved to the window where sunlight spilled across the floor. "Maybe," he said at last, his voice quiet.
Aoi tilted her head, studying him. He was difficult to read, yet she found that was exactly what made her curious. In her old school she had met plenty of loud boys who tried too hard to be noticed. Haruki was the opposite. It made her want to press further.
She unwrapped the bread roll she had brought from home and took a bite. "You know, I write sometimes," she said with her mouth still half full. "Stories, mostly. I never show anyone either."
Haruki looked at her again, his eyes steady but not judging. "Why not?"
Aoi shrugged. "Because they are probably bad. Or because no one would care. Take your pick."
He did not laugh or dismiss her words, and that surprised her. Instead, he said, "If you never show anyone, you will never know if they care."
Aoi blinked, then let out a soft chuckle. "You are full of simple truths, aren't you?"
Haruki gave no reply, but the faintest curve of his lips showed again, just enough to make her pause.
The lunch bell rang again, echoing down the hall. Aoi packed her things slowly, still watching him.
"I might come back tomorrow," she said casually, though her tone carried a hint of challenge.
Haruki nodded once. "If you want."
Aoi slung her bag over her shoulder, giving him a small wave before stepping out into the hallway.
As the door closed behind her, Haruki returned to his desk, opening his sketchbook to a fresh page. He hesitated for a moment, then began to draw again. This time, the outline was not of a hallway or a classroom. It was of a girl standing in the doorway, her smile just a little too bright for the quiet of the room.