The morning sunlight filtered through the thin curtains of Aoi Takahashi's room, painting golden stripes across his sketchbook. He sat cross-legged on the floor, pencil hovering over the page, unsure if the lines he drew matched the image in his head. Outside, the faint murmur of the city started waking up—a rhythmic hum of distant traffic, bicycle bells, and the occasional barking dog—but inside his small room, the world felt suspended, quiet enough for him to hear the soft scratching of graphite on paper.
Aoi's sketches weren't extraordinary—just doodles of people he saw around school, moments captured in fleeting gestures—but they were his escape. Today, he was drawing Hana Fujimoto, though he'd never admitted it to anyone. Her laughter echoed in his mind, a melody that seemed too bright for someone like him, someone who preferred shadows to spotlight.
"Oi! Aoi, you're going to be late if you don't get moving!" His older sister, Yuki, banged on the door with a grin. "Unless you want to end up being the school ghost again!"
Aoi groaned. "I'll be fine in five minutes…" He quickly erased a stray line from Hana's hair, the red blush creeping across his cheeks when he thought about her sitting two rows ahead in class, tapping her pen absentmindedly.
By the time he stepped outside, the city was alive. Students bustled down the sidewalks, some chatting in groups, others absorbed in their phones. Hana, of course, was already at the courtyard, surrounded by her friends, laughing so brightly that even Aoi, who normally avoided crowds, felt drawn toward her.
He lingered near a cherry blossom tree, pretending to adjust his backpack, while secretly glancing at her. She tripped over a loose stone—gracefully, of course—and one of her friends caught her just in time. Aoi stifled a snort. Hana's clumsy charm was magnetic; it made his chest tighten in ways he didn't fully understand.
"You're staring again." A voice beside him made him jump. It was Riku Matsuda, leaning casually against the tree, a teasing smirk on his face. "Don't tell me you're planning to sketch her… again."
"I—I'm not!" Aoi stumbled over his words, cheeks blazing. "I'm just… observing!"
Riku raised an eyebrow, clearly amused, but he didn't push further. He gave a small nudge with his shoulder before wandering off toward the soccer field, leaving Aoi in a mix of embarrassment and relief.
The morning passed in a blur of classes. Aoi's thoughts constantly drifted to Hana: the way she chewed her pen cap absentmindedly, the sparkle in her eyes when she laughed at something trivial. He caught small glimpses of her interacting with others—so naturally kind, so effortlessly bright. Each sighting was a small pang, a reminder of the quiet affection he harbored and yet couldn't voice.
At lunch, Aoi sat under the same cherry blossom tree, sketchbook on his lap, pencil moving almost on its own. A soft voice startled him.
"Mind if I sit?"
Hana's eyes sparkled, warm and inviting. She plopped down beside him with her usual careless grace, leaving crumbs from her sandwich on the bench, which she didn't notice.
"Uh… s-sure," Aoi mumbled, closing his sketchbook too quickly, the half-finished drawing of her peeking out. Hana tilted her head, pretending not to notice, and smiled.
"You're always drawing, huh?" she asked. "Do you ever just… watch?"
"I… I mean…" Aoi's words got stuck somewhere between his brain and his tongue. Watching her, talking to her—it was terrifying and thrilling at the same time.
Hana laughed softly, a sound that seemed to make the wind around them lighter. "It's okay. I think it's kind of… cute."
Aoi blinked, unsure if he heard her right. "C-cute?"
"Yeah. Don't make that face! It's nice to see someone so… focused on something they like." She leaned back, watching the clouds drift lazily across the sky. For a moment, the world seemed simple. Sunlight, laughter, and a quiet boy who sketched too much.
By the end of lunch, Aoi felt something unfamiliar—a warmth spreading in his chest, not from the sun but from the fact that Hana had sat beside him, talked to him, and laughed in a way that made his heart race. As she skipped off to join her friends, he watched her go, pencil idly tracing her outline in his mind more vividly than any drawing on paper.
That evening, at home, Aoi's mother called him for dinner. His father hummed a tune in the kitchen while Yuki teased him mercilessly. "So… someone caught your eye today, huh? Did she say anything interesting?"
Aoi mumbled something incoherent, cheeks burning. He glanced at his sketchbook lying on the table—a half-finished drawing of Hana smiling. He didn't know if it was hope, longing, or just a foolish crush, but he felt it deep down: tomorrow, he'd try again.
And maybe, just maybe, he'd find the courage to talk to her properly.