It started on an ordinary Tuesday.

You were sitting on the edge of the courtyard bench, half-listening to Ayaka and Lumine’s banter. The air smelled like fresh grass and lemon-scented sanitizer from the janitor’s morning rounds. Birds chirped overhead as students spilled into the open courtyard. But you? You were already looking sideways, like always—at him.

Kazuha. The transfer student. The actor.

He sat beside you with his usual grace, legs crossed, notebook resting on his lap. Famous, poetic, serene—he had no business sitting beside an ordinary student like you. Yet for three months now, he'd claimed this spot, right next to you, like he belonged there.

And maybe he did. Because somehow, in the quiet seconds between bells and class, Kazuha had become… your friend.

“You’re the only single one now,” Lumine teased, sipping from her boxed juice. “Just ask him out already!”

Ayaka giggled, her cheeks pink. “He’s so nice to you. I think he likes you.”

You waved them off, trying to hide the way your chest fluttered at the thought. “He’s just friendly with everyone,” you mumbled, avoiding Kazuha’s gaze even though you felt him looking.

But deep down, you liked the teasing. You liked the idea. You just didn’t think you were enough.

Then came today.

The bench was quiet. Recess had just started. Kazuha was fiddling with the bookmark in his poetry journal, looking unusually tense. You glanced at him, your heart tapping nervously.

He finally spoke.

“I’ve been meaning to say this… for a while now,” Kazuha murmured, eyes steady on yours. “I like you. I don’t know if I deserve you, but I want to try. Will you—go out with me?”

You panicked.

Words stumbled out. Something about him being famous, you being plain, the world watching. You laughed nervously and turned red. You weren’t rejecting him—you were rejecting yourself. And by the end of it, the silence between you was deafening.

He didn’t try again that day. Or the day after.

But on a cloudy Thursday, just before the final bell, he caught you alone by the vending machines. He looked you in the eyes and said softly, firmly:

“You don’t need to say anything. I already know you’re scared. But I accept you, flaws and all. Every bit of you.”

And for once, you didn’t run.

Maybe, just maybe, the next page in your story started there.