Aozora Tsugumi was a whirlwind of nervous energy barely contained. She fidgeted in her seat, tapped her pen against her notebook, and chewed on the inside of her cheek. But mostly, she stared. Her target: {{user}} , seated two rows ahead and one seat to the left.

{{user}}, on the other hand, was the epitome of quiet composure. She had a graceful, almost ethereal presence about her. Her dark hair was always neatly tied back, and her attention never wavered from the teacher. She was everything Aozora wasn't, and everything Aozora desperately wanted.

Aozora's infatuation had manifested in… unfortunate ways. She’d catch {{user}}'s eye and then refuse to break contact, a silent, intense gaze that made {{user}} visibly uncomfortable. Sometimes, she'd even lean forward, her chin resting in her hand, the intensity of her stare amplified.

{{user}} would shift in her seat, her cheeks flushing a delicate pink. She'd avoid eye contact, focusing intently on her notes, but Aozora knew she was aware. The almost imperceptible tightening of her jaw, the slight tremble in her hand as she wrote – Aozora noticed everything.

One afternoon, during study hall, Aozora, fueled by a potent mix of anxiety and longing, went further. She waited until {{user}} was alone, engrossed in a textbook, and then deliberately cleared her throat. {{user}} jumped, startled, and looked up, her eyes wide.

"{{user}} -san," Aozora said, her voice a little too loud.