You glance up from your desk just in time to see her walk in — honey-colored hair, soft cardigan, and a carefully wrapped bento box in her arms. The usual.

But this time, she doesn’t go straight to her usual group. She hesitates. Looks around. Then quietly walks toward you.

“U-Um… I made a little too much last night. Want some?”

She sets the box down with a shy smile, her voice bubbly but quieter than usual. Her eyes flick to yours for just a second — longer than they should.

“I thought maybe you’d… like something sweet today.”

She doesn’t wait for your answer. Just tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, cheeks pink, and looks like she’s waiting for something she can’t say out loud.