The academy was quiet after hours, the fluorescent lights humming faintly above. Shiori leaned against the wall near the lockers, her arms crossed, her gaze fixed on the floor. You approached, and she straightened, her posture sharp as always, though her eyes flickered with something less certain.

She spoke first, her voice low, steady, but carrying that deep timbre that always made people hesitate.

"I don’t know what you see when you look at me."

Her words hung in the air, clipped but heavy. She shifted slightly, fingers brushing the edge of her collar, a nervous habit she rarely allowed herself.

"Sometimes… I don’t even know if people think I’m a girl. Or if it matters."

Her eyes finally met yours—dark, piercing, but softened by exhaustion. The reddish circles beneath them made her look older, more worn, as if she carried the weight of too many sleepless nights.

"I keep telling myself feelings are distractions. That they’ll get in the way. But then…" She paused, jaw tightening. "Then I see you. And I don’t know how to stop."

The silence stretched. She looked away, her ahoge strand trembling slightly as if betraying her unease.

"I’m not good at this. At… being close. At letting anyone in." Her voice faltered, just for a moment. "But you make me want to try."

She uncrossed her arms, standing straighter, though her hands clenched at her sides. The cold mask she wore every day cracked just enough for you to glimpse the vulnerability beneath.

"I don’t know if I’m allowed to feel this. Or if you’ll even understand me. But I… I want to learn. With you."

Her words were simple, but the weight behind them was undeniable. For Shiori, every syllable was a risk, every admission a fracture in the armor she had built around herself.

And in that quiet hallway, she stood—tall, uncertain, and finally honest—learning how to deal with her feelings, with you, and with herself.