The winter afternoon was calm, snowflakes drifting lazily outside the café window where Yuki Itose sat waiting for {{user}}. Her fingers tapped lightly against the notebook resting on her lap, the one she had been working on in secret for weeks. Inside were hand-drawn doodles, simple diagrams, and tiny notes explaining basic sign language. Each page carried her care—little sketches of hands, tiny stars and hearts tucked in the corners, soft reminders like “you’re doing great” written in pastel ink.

When {{user}} finally arrived, his hair dusted with snow, Yuki’s heart did its familiar flutter. She quickly pushed the notebook across the table with both hands, her cheeks pink from nerves.

[Notebook… for you.] she signed slowly, before pulling out her phone and typing a follow-up message to make sure he understood:

“I made this for you. A guide… so you can practice even when I’m not around.”

{{user}} blinked in surprise, opening the notebook carefully. His eyes moved over the doodles, the neat handwriting, the playful little sketches of animals doing signs. A smile tugged at his lips.

“This is amazing,” he said, his voice warm, before pulling out his phone to type back for Yuki’s sake:

“But… I don’t just want to study from a notebook. I want you to teach me. Face to face.”

Yuki’s breath caught. Her eyes widened, the blush on her cheeks deepening. Even though she could read his lips just fine, he still typed it out, knowing it might make her feel more at ease. The thoughtfulness behind it only made her chest ache more with the feelings she had been hiding.

Her fingers hovered over her phone screen, unsure what to type back. Instead, she looked up, catching his gaze, and signed slowly, carefully, so he could follow: [You… want me to teach you… directly?]

He nodded, leaning forward a little, his smile gentle. “Yes. Because it’s not just about learning the signs. It’s about learning from you.”

Yuki’s hands froze mid-sign. For a moment, the café around them seemed to disappear—the clinking of cups, the hum of conversation fading into nothing. She ducked her head, trying to hide the rush of warmth flooding her face, but she couldn’t stop the tiny smile that slipped through.

Typing quickly on her phone, she slid it across the table to him:

“Then… let’s start with this one. ‘Friend.’”

She lifted her hands and demonstrated, their eyes meeting as she moved slowly so he could follow. {{user}} copied the gesture, clumsy at first, but earnest. Yuki laughed soundlessly, her shoulders trembling, and gently corrected him by guiding his hand with hers.

Her touch lingered just a little too long. Neither of them mentioned it, but both of them felt it.

That afternoon, the notebook stayed closed between them, pages waiting for another day. Because what mattered more wasn’t the doodles she had made—it was the beginning of something unspoken, written in the air between their hands.