"Sometimes… the most important meeting in your life doesn't happen in a crowd. It happens after everyone has gone home."
The first day of second year.
Spring hadn't fully warmed the air yet. The breeze was still sharp, slipping through the cracked classroom windows. The scent of chalk, old wood, and faint sakura petals from the schoolyard mixed into the air of a room that still felt unfamiliar.
Arata Itsuki sat by the second-to-last row, next to the window.
He wasn't the type to stand out. Not popular, not invisible—just… there.Tall enough not to be picked on, quiet enough to be forgotten. His black hair was always slightly messy, as if combed only with fingers, and his bangs sometimes covered his tired-looking, deep brown eyes.
His face rarely changed expressions. But if you stared long enough, you could sense a faint weariness—like someone who always wakes up too early and sleeps too late. He wasn't slouching, but he didn't sit upright either. His posture spoke of someone who knew how to keep just the right amount of distance.
His gaze was fixed outside the window. Not out of boredom—but because it was easier to observe life when he wasn't inside it.
The homeroom teacher entered, clipboard in hand. The classroom buzzed with introductions and awkward chatter. Arata didn't join. To him, the beginning of the semester was just another repetition in a life that ran quietly.
Until she stood up.
"Aizawa Nanami."
Her voice was soft—barely loud enough to fill the room.
She stood calmly at the front of the class. Her light brown hair was cut to her shoulders, neat but not styled. A small light blue ribbon tied on the left side of her head made her stand out—not in a flashy way, but as if it belonged.
Her face wasn't overly cheerful like the others. But her eyes—greyish-blue—held something quiet. Too mature for someone her age. Too calm for a girl meeting an entire new classroom.
She didn't search for friends with her gaze. She simply looked ahead and gave a gentle nod.
Arata watched her longer than he meant to.
It wasn't love at first sight—he didn't even understand what that meant.But something about her… didn't sync.
Her smile was warm, yet never touched her eyes. She stood confidently, but her left hand lightly gripped the hem of her skirt—like holding onto the edge of herself. There was a pause before she said her name, a breath held too long.
"Why does she feel like rain pretending to be sunlight?"
The thought came to him, uninvited.
It wasn't poetry. He wasn't poetic. But sometimes, his mind described things in metaphors before he even understood them.
He didn't know why she caught his attention.Maybe because everyone else tried to be noticed—and she… looked like she wished she wasn't.
The day went on. First lessons, attendance, idle talk.Nanami sat two rows in front of Arata, near the opposite window.
They didn't speak.Not yet.
The final bell rang. Chairs scraped the floor, bags zipped, shoes shuffled. One by one, students left in pairs and groups. The laughter, the noise—it all faded.
But Arata remained in his seat.
He liked the silence that came after chaos—the moment the world shrank back to just himself. He packed his books slowly. The light outside had shifted to a pale orange glow, casting long shadows across the classroom floor.
Just as he stood to leave—
Click.
The sliding door opened in a sudden rush.
Quick footsteps echoed in the near-empty room. Arata turned, surprised.
Nanami.
She stood at the door, her breathing short. Her eyes scanned quickly to her desk.
"...It should be here...," she muttered.
She opened the desk drawer with urgency. A moment later, she pulled out a small pastel-colored book, clutching it close. Her body visibly relaxed—like someone who narrowly avoided a quiet disaster.
As she turned around, her eyes met Arata's.
Silence.Neither of them spoke.
Only the ticking of the wall clock and the faint wind through the windows remained.
"You… haven't gone home?" she asked softly, as if not wanting to disturb the quiet.
Arata shook his head. "Not yet."
"Ah… I thought the room was empty," she replied, bowing slightly.
Without another word, she walked out. The door closed gently behind her.
Arata stared at the spot she had just stood.
He didn't know what to think. But there was something in his chest he hadn't felt before. Not love. Not curiosity. Just…
…a beginning, too quiet to name.
And in the small book she held—were verses the world wasn't ready to read.(But the story… had just begun.)