The sound of the bell echoed across the hallway, marking the start of lunch break. Students rushed out of classrooms, laughing, chattering, and filling the corridors with noise. I leaned against my desk, half-asleep, staring blankly at my lunch box.
Maybe I’d just eat later. I had one small errand to do first — bringing a few documents to the student council room since the class rep was out sick.
At least it gave me an excuse to stay away from the cafeteria chaos… and, well, from her.
The air felt different once I stepped outside. The sunlight filtering through the windows painted warm patterns on the floor, and for a moment, I just walked aimlessly — enjoying the silence most people ignored.
After dropping off the papers, I noticed something strange.
The rooftop door. Slightly open.
That was odd. It was usually locked.
Curiosity got the better of me. I hesitated for a second, then pushed it open.
A soft gust of wind greeted me. The sky stretched wide above, pale blue and endless, and far away I could hear the cry of seagulls. But mixed within that was something else — something pure, something alive.
A violin.
The sound floated gently in the air. It wasn’t loud, yet it pulled me forward — like being drawn toward sunlight through a narrow window. Each note shimmered with emotion. I walked quietly, step by step, until I saw her.
Naoko.
She stood near the edge of the rooftop, her hair swaying with the wind, a violin resting under her chin. Her eyes were calm and focused, her lips curved into a faint, serene smile. But beside her was something unexpected — a small tripod with a phone attached.
And then, I heard her voice.
“Good afternoon, everyone… Thank you for joining again. Today, I’ll be playing something a little special—‘The Sea’s Whisper.’”
Her tone was warm and confident, like she’d done this a hundred times before. It was almost strange — the Naoko I knew was quiet, sleepy, sometimes absentminded. But the girl in front of me? She was radiant.
So this was the real her. Or maybe the other her.
I stopped a few meters away, not wanting to disturb. The music began again, a gentle melody that rose and fell like waves brushing the shore. Her bow moved gracefully, each note carrying a story I couldn’t quite understand — but could feel.
When the last note faded, she let out a soft breath and smiled at the camera.
“Thank you, everyone… I hope today’s song finds you well.”
Then, she ended the stream.
The sudden silence felt strange — like the world itself had exhaled.
Nao sighed deeply, lowering her violin and flopping down onto the concrete. “Ahhh… my hands are killing me. That was too long…”
Her voice sounded totally different now. Lazy. Gentle. Real.
I couldn’t help but smile. That contrast — between her on-screen self and the girl in front of me — was… kind of charming.
And then, she saw me.
“Eh—! H-Hayashi-kun!?”
“Ah! Sorry! I didn’t mean to spy or anything,” I waved both hands in panic. “The door was open, I heard the music, and—well—”
Her face turned a shade of pink. “You… heard everything?”
“Pretty much.” I rubbed my neck. “You’re really good, though.”
She turned away, hiding her face behind a curtain of hair. “I-It’s not that good. I just… practice sometimes.”
“Sometimes?” I glanced at the tripod. “Looks like more than that.”
“Well…” she laughed awkwardly, “I do stream sometimes. As a… Vtuber.”
I blinked. “You’re a Vtuber?”
“Shhh!” She pressed a finger to her lips, eyes wide. “Don’t say it so loud!”
“Right, right. Secret identity. Got it.”
Her shoulders relaxed a little. “Yeah… I don’t really tell people here. I like keeping school and streaming separate.”
“Makes sense.” I sat down near her, leaving a bit of distance. “You’re like two different people.”
Naoko tilted her head. “Two?”
“Yeah. On camera, you’re confident and bright. Off camera, you look like someone who could sleep for a week straight.”
She puffed her cheeks. “That’s mean.”
“Honest,” I corrected.
She smiled softly. “Maybe both.”
The wind carried her laughter across the rooftop, light and unforced. It felt… peaceful.
After a moment, she spoke again — quieter this time. “You know… sometimes I wish I could be that version of me all the time. The one people see online. She’s cheerful, calm, sure of herself.”
“And you’re not?”
She looked down, fingers brushing against the violin case. “Not really. When the stream ends, it’s just… quiet again. And I start wondering if I’m really as good as they think.”
Her honesty caught me off guard. I didn’t know what to say. I wasn’t good with delicate words, but somehow, I didn’t want to leave the silence hanging.
“Well… I don’t know about all that,” I said slowly, “but your music—it felt like it came from someone who understands what they’re playing. That’s not something anyone can fake.”
Her eyes widened slightly, then softened. “That’s… a really nice thing to say.”
“Just saying what I thought.”
“Still,” she whispered, almost to herself, “thank you.”
The breeze stirred between us again, tugging gently at her hair. I found myself watching her expression — calm, focused, and a little shy. She noticed and quickly turned away, pretending to check her phone.
“Hey,” she said after a moment, lifting her violin. “You play guitar, right?”
“Huh? How’d you—”
“I heard from Akane,” she grinned faintly. “She said you’re not bad.”
“I… guess,” I muttered.
“Then maybe you can try this.” She held out the violin toward me. “Want to play?”
I froze.
Her hands were steady, her smile innocent — but something inside me tensed.
“N-no, thanks,” I said quickly. “I wouldn’t even know where to start.”
“It’s not that hard,” she said, still smiling. “I can teach you the basics. Here—”
Before I could stop her, she moved closer and placed the violin in my hands, guiding my fingers along the neck. Her hands were warm — soft, but firm, like she’d done this a hundred times.
“Hold it like this,” she murmured. “Relax your shoulders. Yeah, like that.”
Her face was close — too close. I could feel her breath when she spoke, light as the wind.
“See? It’s not so bad.”
I swallowed hard, trying to focus on the instrument. “I—I think I’ll just… watch instead.”
She paused, blinking, then gave a small laugh. “Alright, alright. Guess you’re not ready for the stage yet.”
“I’m barely ready to hold it,” I muttered, handing it back.
Naoko took it gently, her fingers brushing against mine. The touch was brief but enough to make my heart stutter. She smiled softly — a little embarrassed, maybe, but genuine.
“You’re kind of hopeless sometimes,” she said.
“I get that a lot.”
The sun shifted slightly, bathing the rooftop in a deeper shade of gold. Shadows stretched long across the floor. Neither of us spoke for a while. It wasn’t awkward — just quiet, comfortable.
Then, almost absentmindedly, she began to hum a tune. The same melody she’d played earlier, only this time softer, without the violin. Her voice blended with the sound of the wind — fragile, beautiful, and real.
It made me forget where I was.
When she stopped, I found myself saying quietly, “You know… you should sing more often.”
She looked surprised. “You think so?”
“Yeah. Your voice suits the violin.”
Her cheeks flushed slightly. “You’re bad at compliments, you know that?”
“Still works, though.”
She laughed — really laughed this time. And something about that sound stayed with me, like a note that refused to fade.
The bell rang in the distance, signaling the end of lunch.
Nao stood up, brushing off her skirt. “We should head back.”
“Yeah.”
Before leaving, she turned to me, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “Hey, Hayashi-kun?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks for listening.”
“Anytime,” I said. “And don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me.”
She nodded. “I know.”
As she walked away, her violin case swinging lightly by her side, I stayed behind for a moment, watching her disappear through the door. The rooftop felt different now — warmer somehow.
The melody she’d played still echoed in my mind, refusing to fade.
I leaned against the railing, staring at the sky.
I didn’t understand why my chest felt tight. Maybe it was the music. Maybe it was her smile.
Or maybe… it was something I wasn’t ready to admit yet.