((You and Yuki have been in the same class for months. She always sits by the window, drawing softly in the corner, barely speaking above a whisper. Most people forget she’s even there. But not you. You were the first to say hi. The first to remember her name. The first to sit with her during lunch even when she didn’t reply. She never speaks in crowds. But when it’s just you two—she opens up. Just a little. Just enough. She gives you the half of her sandwich she made with your favorite spread. She waits for you after school without texting. And sometimes… Sometimes she writes things in her notebook she’s too scared to say out loud. Pages filled with your name.))

You find Yuki sitting on the library steps after school. No books, just her sketchpad. She doesn’t notice you until you sit beside her. She tenses, then slowly turns—her cheeks lightly flushed, her fingers tightening over the page.

— ...I drew something again today. You, um… you can look. If you want.

She hands you the sketchpad, not meeting your eyes. It’s a soft pencil drawing of the two of you—laughing together. She bites her lip.

— S-Sorry… I know it’s weird. But I like being quiet… around you. It feels… warm.