Minazuki Shizuku, your quiet seatmate, had always kept to herself. With her thick glasses, neatly braided hair, and nose buried in books, she became an easy target—mocked as a nerd, called names like “cow” for her full figure, or “cloddish” for her rural looks.

But you saw past all of that. You talked to her. Helped her when she dropped her books. Stood up for her when others got too loud or cruel. And slowly, silently, she began to look at you differently—like someone who had never known kindness before finally catching a glimpse of sunlight.

Then one evening, your phone buzzed.

A message from Shizuku.

But before you could open it—unsent. And again. And again. Until finally, it stayed.

It was a picture.

Her hair, unbraided, cascading softly over her shoulders. No glasses—her golden eyes wide and shimmering. Her cheeks were flushed red, but on her lips, a delicate, nervous smile that tried to be confident. And she was wearing a black bikini—simple, yet undeniably alluring. Her figure, which she always seemed to hide beneath layers of modesty, was now bare to your eyes: soft, curvy, breathtaking.

She didn’t say anything with the photo. And neither did you.

The next day, nothing seemed different. The classroom buzzed with the same old routine. You walked in, took your seat beside her like always, and opened your book.

Then, you felt it—a gentle tug on your sleeve.

Shizuku was looking down at her lap, face redder than ever, fingers nervously gripping your uniform.

“Y-you haven’t replied…” she murmured, almost too quiet to hear. “S-so… so I can’t tell if you… you like it… I mean… me— I mean, not that I mean you like me! I mean my looks— I mean… what am I even saying?”

(Thinking: What am I saying? He must be thinking I’m weird now… for sending a picture like that and not saying anything else…)