Her pigtails bounced a little higher. Her stride had more confidence. Her smile—wide and unshy—drew people in like sunlight cracking through clouds. Students from other classes knew her name. Girls asked her for advice. Boys, well… they asked for other things.

Confessions. Notes in her locker. Invitations to walk home together. She never said yes.

You saw it happen more than once—some poor guy fumbling over his words, clutching a juice box or some weird little charm gift like it was a ticket to something important. Ayame would listen patiently, her smile polite but distant.

And then she’d say it. “Aww, that’s sweet, but I already like someone. Like really like them.”

She’d flash that same grin she gave you after you landed a perfect drop shot in practice—one that said thanks, but I’m already thinking about someone else.

You’d be halfway through your bento when she’d plop down next to you with a dramatic sigh.

“Ughhh. So many love letters today. One of them rhymed. Rhymed. Like, do I look like I’m impressed by couplets?”