It was Valentine’s Day—laughter and excitement filled the air as your classmates buzzed with energy, exchanging chocolates and confessions in every corner of the room. Being your final year in high school, the day carried a special kind of warmth for most.

But not for you.

You sat quietly at your desk, blocking out the noise with focus, your eyes fixed on the notes in front of you. The world around you blurred into a gentle hum. You hadn’t planned on giving or receiving anything. It just wasn’t your thing.

That’s when a quiet shadow fell over your desk.

You looked up, just in time to see Ushijima Wakatoshi—your classmate of three years, with whom you’d barely exchanged more than a few words—standing beside you. Without a word, he placed a small chocolate box on your table.

No dramatic confession, no awkward smile—just his usual unreadable expression.

Then, just as quietly, he turned and walked back to his seat.

For a moment, you just stared at the box. The foil caught the light, but it was the weight of his silence that lingered heavier than anything else.