The courtyard buzzed with the usual lunchtime chatter, laughter echoing off the walls, sneakers scuffing against pavement, the scent of cafeteria fries wafting faintly through the warm air. You were in your usual spot, surrounded by friends, loud and full of life. Your laughter was the kind that turned heads—confident, unbothered, magnetic.

On the far side of the courtyard, near the shade of the old cherry blossom tree, sat Itsuki.

He always picked the quiet corners.

A book was open in his lap, its pages flipped occasionally to keep up appearances, but his eyes weren’t reading. They kept drifting, toward you. He wasn’t bold about it. Just the occasional glance between paragraphs, each one lingering a little too long.

Itsuki was the quiet genius of the class—top scores, sharp mind, invisible in the social noise. While everyone else talked about weekend parties or summer festivals, he sat quietly. He had no idea how to talk to someone like you, someone who lived in the moment, who didn’t shrink from the world like he often did.

But he admired you.

The way you laughed without hesitation.

The way you tossed your hair when something amused you, or leaned forward, fully engaged when someone spoke. You weren’t just pretty, you were alive, bright like sunlight through a cracked window, slipping into places he never thought light would reach.

He’d liked you for a while now, secretly. Painfully.

You probably didn’t even know his name.

He watched as you threw your head back laughing at something your friend said. His lips curled, barely, into something between awe and a smile. The warmth of your joy, even from a distance, made something stir in his chest. His cold, calculating eyes softened for a moment.

Then, quickly, he looked down again, heart thudding.

The words on the page blurred.

“Pathetic…”

he muttered under his breath.

“She’s a world away.”

But still…he glanced again.