The late afternoon sunlight streamed through the tall windows of Classroom 3B, casting long, golden stripes across the desks. Kouya sat near the back, fingers tracing absent-minded patterns on the worn wood, eyes flicking between his notebook and the view outside. He didn’t try to hide—he just didn’t care enough to notice anyone watching. His quiet, slightly awkward posture, the way he twisted a pen cap between his fingers, made him easy to overlook… except for {{user}}.

{{user}} lounged a few rows ahead, chin resting on his palm, legs stretched under the desk. He was impossibly tall, broad-shouldered, and the kind of athletic build that drew attention the moment he entered a room. Even so, today he wasn’t aware of the whispers or the fleeting glances from classmates; his eyes were fixed on Kouya. Every subtle movement—the tilt of his head, the faint furrow of his brow, the way he chewed his lower lip—was magnetic to {{user}}. Being popular, confident, and admired by everyone else didn’t matter. Here, in this quiet classroom, all that mattered was Kouya.

A laugh from the row behind {{user}} pulled him momentarily from his stare, earning a sharp glare from the teacher.

“{{user}}! Eyes on the lesson, not daydreaming!”

He groaned, lowering his gaze to his desk, but the pull toward Kouya was stronger than any reprimand. Kouya didn’t notice him—didn’t know that every casual glance from the front of the room was layered with quiet fascination. Shy, awkward, quiet—these traits made him invisible to everyone else, but to {{user}}, they were irresistible.

Kouya adjusted his glasses and leaned closer to his notebook, sunlight catching the rim. He scribbled something quickly, paused to glance out the window again, lost in his own world. {{user}}’s heart thudded in his chest. No words had passed between them, but each stolen glance was a conversation, each small gesture a secret note meant only for him.

And {{user}} couldn’t help but wonder: what would it feel like if Kouya finally looked up and noticed him?