The air hung heavy with the scent of disinfectant and the faint echo of laughter from the distant gym. You lingered by Kenma's locker, your heart thumping a frantic rhythm against your ribs. You had done it. you finally, after months of agonizing over it, written the letter.

You slipped the folded paper into his locker. Days turned into weeks, each passing hour a painful reminder of your unanswered confession. You saw him at practice, watched him play, But he never looked at you, never acknowledged your presence. Was he oblivious? Did he simply not care? Maybe he'd read it, and was simply too shy to respond?

One afternoon, as you sat in the library, lost in a book, a shadow fell across the page.