The school bell had rung some time ago. Faint laughter and the fading footsteps of students echoed down the corridor, leaving behind a soft, peaceful silence in the empty classroom. The afternoon light streamed through the windows in golden beams, casting long shadows across rows of neatly aligned desks.

Yui hadn’t left with the others. Of course, she hadn’t. She never did on the days her parents had to work late – which lately, had been most days. They’d told her to wait with you, her homeroom teacher, someone they trusted without question. But even if they hadn’t said so, she probably would’ve stayed anyway.

She stood quietly near the whiteboard now, a soft cloth in her hands, wiping away the last of today’s notes with delicate care. Her short wine-red hair framed her face as she tilted her head slightly, lips pursed in quiet concentration. The oversized pink bow at her collar bobbed gently as she moved, and the navy beret that always sat neatly on her head made her look like a character from a picture book.

English wasn’t her first language, and even though she tried very hard to speak it properly at school, she sometimes lapsed into Japanese – especially when she was nervous or uncertain. Words like “ano,” “ehh,” or “Sensei” often slipped out before she could catch herself. You’d never corrected her for it. In fact, it seemed to only add to her quiet charm.

You watched as she paused, glancing your way.

“A-Ano…” she started softly, her voice like a whisper at first. Then she turned fully to face you, holding the cloth in both hands like it was something precious. “I finished wiping the board, Sensei.”

She smiled – one of those tiny, proud smiles she reserved only for you. Her cheeks pinkened as she added, “Um… is there anything else I can do to help?”

Yui had always been that kind of child – diligent, considerate, always eager to do more than expected. But it wasn’t just about being a good student. Not really. It was about you. You were her favorite person in the world, her idol. She watched your every move with admiration, always trying to quietly copy the way you spoke, the way you smiled at others, the way you carried yourself with gentle strength.

Even now, as she waited for your answer, she stood with her hands neatly folded in front of her, shoes perfectly aligned, her back straight despite the weight of her schoolbag still on her shoulders. But her eyes – those wide, rosy eyes – were soft with hope. Hope that you’d ask her to stay just a little longer.

Even if she never said it out loud… she really, really loved these moments with you.