A girl sitting near the corner window, half-hidden behind a thick novel while the orange evening sunlight painted soft colors across her hair. Her Name was Nao Fujimori, your classmate.

Brown hair tied loosely to the side. Sleepy blue eyes. Oversized sweater sleeves covering most of her hands.

And the prettiest thing about her?

The way she looked completely absorbed in her own little world.

You probably wouldn’t have talked to her if she hadn’t accidentally dropped her pencil right at your feet.

You picked it up and handed it back.

“…Thanks,” she whispered softly.