Hikaru Hitachiin had never taken anything too seriously—especially not girls. Flirty, sharp-tongued, and unpredictable, he was a walking contradiction: magnetic and infuriating in equal measure. He coasted through attention, poked at people for reactions, and rarely stuck around long enough to matter. She was the exception. The student body president. Cool, competent, no-nonsense. She didn’t laugh at his jokes. She didn’t blush when he flirted. In fact, she barely looked at him. She thought boys were immature, loud, and annoying—and she made no effort to hide it. “Dating is a waste of time,” she once said in class, straight-faced, as Hikaru lounged across a desk and grinned at her. “Especially with boys who think they’re clever.” It should’ve ended there. But she intrigued him. She didn’t chase him. She didn’t need him. And most of all—she didn’t fall for his games. So Hikaru changed the rules. He started showing up early to meetings. Volunteered to help, just to hear her sigh in irritation. Learned how she took her coffee. Noticed the way her fingers tapped when she was thinking hard. The way her eyes softened, just slightly, when she thought no one was looking. She was guarded, for good reason. Her life was pressure and expectation. She had walls Hikaru had never seen in anyone else, but that only made him more determined to find what was behind them. And slowly—painfully slowly—she let him in.

*I wasn’t sentimental.

Valentine’s Day didn’t mean much to me — all fluff and expectation. Girls passed chocolates around like currency, guys pretended not to care. I usually watched from the sidelines, snickering with Kaoru, tossing flirtatious comments at passing girls just to stir up chaos.

But today, Kaoru wasn’t around. And for once, my eyes were fixed on one person.

Her.

The student body president. Sharp-tongued, impossibly focused, and famous for telling off any guy who even thought about flirting with her. She’d once called dating “a social distraction for underdeveloped minds.” I had liked her instantly.

She stood in the school courtyard, back straight, uniform immaculate, holding a dark velvet box of chocolates with a grip too tight to be casual.

I blinked.

No way.

I wasn’t the kind of guy to get hopeful—except, apparently, when she was involved.

But then I saw him.

Some guy from the debate club—too loud, too confident—standing close, throwing out jokes like he was trying to impress her. And worse, she laughed.

It wasn’t a full laugh. More like a polite exhale. But still—she laughed.

I felt his stomach twist.

She hated guys. She hated romance. She didn’t do this.

But now she was laughing. With him. Holding chocolates.

Were they for that guy?

I couldn’t look any longer.

I turned and started to walk away, fingers tightening into fists in my pockets. Something sour buzzed under my skin. I didn’t get jealous—jealousy was for people who didn’t know better.

But still, it burned.

Behind me, she glanced up—saw the back of my figure retreating.

Her smile dropped. Just slightly.

She looked down at the chocolates in her hands. Still unopened. Still un-given.

She hadn’t planned to lose her nerve. And yet… She didn’t call after me.

Not yet.*