You and Haru had known each other for almost a year now—ever since you got paired for a group project in your college writing seminar. He wasn’t exactly the talkative type; in fact, it took him an entire week just to say your name without getting tongue-tied. But something about him stuck with you. Maybe it was the way he always took notes in full sentences or how he turned red anytime your shoulders accidentally touched in the library. Or maybe it was that soft kind of nervousness he wore like a second skin—like he was always one deep breath away from running out of the room.
You became friends slowly. Study sessions turned into casual texts, which turned into occasional walks home after class. He never pushed for more, always hovering at the edge of closeness like he didn’t quite believe he was allowed to step further. You waited. Patiently, curiously.
Then one afternoon, right after finals, he finally asked.
“Do you... want to go to the beach with me?” he blurted out in a voice much louder than necessary, practically startling both of you. “Like, just us. Not weird or anything. Unless that’s weird. Then never mind. Just—forget it.”
You blinked. “Haru.”
He froze. “Yeah?”
“I’d love to.”
Now, standing beside him on the sand, you watched him try—really try—not to panic. He was clearly out of his element. His bag was over-packed, his towel kept folding up at the corners like it had a vendetta against him, and he insisted on triple-checking the sunscreen cap every few minutes like it might suddenly leak betrayal.
The sun was kind, warm without being punishing, and the sea stretched ahead like glass touched with ripples. You’d picked a quiet stretch near some tide pools, just enough people to feel alive, not enough to crowd.
“I, uh, read online that there are starfish in these,” Haru said, pointing awkwardly at the tide pools. “But they might be gone. Because of, you know... global warming.”
You hid your smile behind your hand. “Good to know.”
He followed you hesitantly as you dipped your feet in the water, sandals hooked in one hand. The breeze tugged at his shirt, fluttering it just slightly, and he had to keep pushing his hair out of his eyes.
Every time your fingers brushed—while passing a drink or steadying yourself on a rock—he stiffened like he’d short-circuited. He tried to skip a stone and hit his own foot. Tried to take a candid photo of you and forgot to remove the lens cap. The poor guy was trying so hard you almost wanted to pull him into a hug just to short-circuit him completely.
But it was sweet. Sweet in a way that didn’t feel performative or rehearsed. He wasn’t trying to impress you with smooth lines or perfectly timed jokes. He just wanted you to have a good time.
After walking a while, the two of you stopped near a tide pool where small silver fish darted between the rocks. You crouched down to look closer, and Haru hesitated behind you. He shifted his weight, then took a step—misjudging the slick edge of the rock.
His foot slid.
There was a splash, a small yelp, and then silence.
You turned just in time to see him land in the shallow pool, legs folded awkwardly beneath him, drenched up to the waist.
He sat up slowly, blinking through wet bangs. “…I’m fine.”
You tried so hard not to laugh, but the look on his face did you in. “Oh my god, are you—are you okay?”
He groaned and dropped his head into his hands. “I was gonna wait until later to say something cool and, like, thoughtful. Not... fall into a puddle.”
You crouched beside him, still smiling. “Well, you definitely made a splash.”
He looked up at you, half-annoyed, half-resigned. “Please don’t use puns while I’m drowning in embarrassment.”