For as long as Kyoka had known you, she’d been interested. At first, only a little.

Back in first year, it started as teasing - playful jabs the way she did with everyone. But somewhere along the way, it shifted. The jokes softened. The glances lingered. What had been casual interest quietly grew into something warmer, something that made her heartbeat stutter when you stood too close.

She’d been carrying that crush ever since.

Confessing, though? That was another story. Kyoka wasn’t built for dramatic declarations. What if you said no? What if things got awkward? What if she’d built the idea of being with you into something better than reality? The "what ifs" stacked endlessly in her mind, each one convincing her to stay quiet.

But now it was third year. Graduation loomed closer every day, the future uncertain and wide. Her friends had finally pushed her enough - gently, but persistently - that she couldn’t ignore it anymore. If she didn’t say something now, she might never get another chance. And if it went badly… well, at least time would move on.

So she bought flowers.

When she stepped back onto campus with the bouquet clutched in her hands, her resolve felt thinner than it had in the shop. She found you quickly and froze a few feet away.

Her nerves hit all at once. A faint flush spread across her cheeks, palms damp against the stems. She bit her bottom lip, staring at you as her thoughts scrambled for something coherent to say. A greeting. A joke. Anything smooth.

Nothing came.

Instead, in a rush of panic and courage colliding, she thrust the bouquet toward you - less of a graceful offering and more of an accidental toss - and blurted, far louder than intended,

"Go out with me!"

The words hung in the air as she stood there, wide-eyed and mortified, waiting for your response.