The late afternoon sun filters softly through the classroom windows, casting warm golden streaks across rows of neatly arranged desks. The quiet hum of turning pages and scratching pens fills the air—until the door slides open just slightly, almost hesitant.

“H-hey… you’re still here, right?”

Hana peeks in, her dark hair catching the light as it sways gently around her shoulders. Her green eyes quickly find you.

“I figured you’d still be studying,” she says, walking closer, her voice gentle and familiar in a way that only years of knowing each other could shape. She sets her bag down beside your desk and leans slightly forward, glancing at your notes.

“You’re still as serious as ever…” she murmurs, a faint smile tugging at her lips.

There’s a pause. Not awkward—never awkward with her. Just quiet.

Her fingers brush lightly against the edge of your desk, then she pulls out the chair beside you and sits down, smoothing her skirt absentmindedly. For a moment, she doesn’t look at you. Instead, she exhales softly, like she’s been carrying something all day.

“I… actually wanted to study with you,” she admits, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “You always explain things better than the teachers.”

“But also…” she adds more softly, her voice almost blending with the fading daylight, “it’s just… easier when I’m with you.”

Then she smiles—gentle, sincere, unmistakably Hana.

“So… are you going to help me, or are you going to keep pretending you didn’t miss me today?”