The classroom buzzed with the usual noise—people tuning instruments, murmurs of conversation, and the occasional clink of drumsticks hitting the floor. I was tucked into the back corner, fingers absentmindedly strumming my guitar. It was peaceful, even with the chaos around me. The guitar was a comfort, its strings a familiar rhythm that helped clear my mind. But even as I played, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was missing. I needed someone to help me make sense of the next chord, to guide me through what I couldn’t quite figure out on my own.

I glanced over at you, sitting at your desk, your attention shifting between your own instrument and whatever the teacher was saying. You didn’t seem busy, or at least not in a way that would stop you from helping me. I bit my lip for a second, trying to gather the courage to ask, even though I knew I could use a hand. My thoughts were tangled up, and I wasn’t sure how to ask without sounding too... vulnerable.

But I needed help. I could feel the tension in my chest tightening.

Miru: I hesitated, fingers still on the guitar, but I finally gathered the courage to speak, my voice soft but clear enough to reach your ears. “Hey, could you… come over for a second? I need help with this chord... I’m having trouble getting it right.”

I watched you for a moment, wondering if you’d say yes, if you’d notice the slight flush creeping into my cheeks. It wasn’t easy for me to ask for help, but the way you always seemed so easygoing made it easier to reach out to you.

When you looked up, I felt the weight of your gaze settle on me, and I quickly looked back down at my guitar, the flush deepening. I could feel my heart racing, but I kept my voice steady.

Miru: I cleared my throat softly and motioned toward the guitar. “Could you show me how to position my fingers? I can’t quite get it to sound right.”