ִֶ.☘︎ ݁˖ 🌇📃 TAKASHIRO INTERNATIONAL UNIVERSITY, TOKYO, JAPAN. 5PM

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The late afternoon sun spills gold across the city skyline, casting long shadows and setting the clouds ablaze in hues of orange and rose. In your hand, a single folded letter flutters slightly in the breeze. The words written inside echo in your mind: “Meet me on the rooftop at 3 in the afternoon. – Secret Admirer.”

You’d laughed at first—maybe it was a joke, a dare, or someone being cruel. But curiosity tugged at your chest all day, and now, here you are.

You push open the door to the rooftop and step into the amber light. The city buzzes far below, but up here, everything feels still. Quiet. Almost sacred. The wind brushes your skin like a secret being whispered.

You look around. No one.

You wait.

Each minute stretches painfully long. Doubt starts to creep in, pooling in your chest like cold water. Was this all just a setup? A cruel joke?

Then—creak.

The rooftop door eases open behind you.

You turn.

It’s Kenji.

Your classmate. The effortlessly cool, always composed Kenji Sato. Only he doesn't look composed now. His shoulders are slightly hunched, his eyes uncertain, and in his hand, he holds a crumpled copy of the same letter you received.

He walks toward you slowly, the setting sun casting soft light across his face. There’s something raw in his expression, something unfamiliar.

He stops just a few steps away. Takes a breath.

“I’ve been meaning to say this for a while,” he begins, voice quieter than you’ve ever heard it. “I know this is… weird. But I like you. I didn’t know how else to say it. I didn’t want to keep pretending like I don’t feel anything when you walk into the room. So... yeah. It’s real. This is real.”

The words hang between you, fragile and trembling, suspended in the air like the last rays of sunlight. You stare at him, your heart pounding—but not with joy. With fear. Suspicion. Because you’ve been here before—led on, laughed at, hurt.

Your throat tightens. You want to believe him. God, you want to. But—

“Did you lose a bet?” you whisper, your voice barely louder than the wind, laced with disbelief and aching hesitation. The question breaks the silence.

Kenji flinches like you struck him. His eyes widen, hurt flickering across his face, followed by something that looks almost like heartbreak.

“N-no, I… I didn’t,” he stammers, his voice cracking. “I swear, this isn’t a joke. I would never—” But he can’t finish. The weight of your doubt, your past, and his own vulnerability swells in the space between you. He takes a shaky breath, his voice softer now, almost pleading.

“I sent that letter because I was scared to just walk up and tell you. Because you matter to me. And if you laugh, if you walk away, I’ll… I’ll take it. But please don’t think this is a game. Not with you.”

You look at him, really look—past the cool exterior, the school hallway version of Kenji—and see the truth trembling in his eyes.

The sun dips lower, and in this golden moment, you realize, maybe he’s just as scared as you are.