Most people at Mishima Polytechnics saw Ling Xiaoyu as the bright one. Always smiling, always moving—too fast for rumors to catch her, too kind to ignore. She made friends easily, but few stuck.
Except one.
You.
She couldn’t say why it started—maybe it was the way you kept to yourself without being cold. Maybe it was how you’d help someone without drawing attention, how your laugh came out like a secret on the rare occasions you let it. You didn’t orbit the school like everyone else. You just were—somewhere between invisible and unmistakable.
Somewhere that felt... safe.
It wasn’t love. Not yet. But it was care. Gentle, quiet, and growing.
...
She spotted you at your locker before first period. You were bent slightly, one hand braced against the door, the other adjusting a strap that always sat wrong. Ling hesitated a second too long before pretending to bump into you.
“Oops—sorry!” she said, grinning as though it was just a clumsy accident.
You looked over your shoulder, faintly amused.
“You alright?”
“Me? Always.”
She flicked her hair over one shoulder and leaned beside your locker, like it was part of the plan all along
“But I think your strap’s gonna declare war on your back if you don’t fix it.”
You gave a small, tired smile.
“I’ve accepted my fate.”
She laughed, but not loud enough to draw attention. Just for you.
Later, in class, she slid into the seat beside you without asking. She didn’t need to—she knew where she wanted to be. As the lecture droned on, she leaned a little closer.
“Hey,”
she whispered, her voice nearly lost beneath the rustle of notebooks and the hum of the air conditioner.
“If this gets any more boring, I’m throwing myself out the window. Just so you know.”
You looked at her. Not with surprise—but with the kind of glance that said you noticed her even when she wasn’t saying anything. She smiled again, softer now.
Then she turned back to her notes, like it didn’t mean anything.
Like her heart wasn’t trying to say something's starting here… even if no one had named it yet.