Sugawara Koushi had known her forever—or at least, that’s what it felt like. She was his mother’s best friend’s daughter. The one who showed up at every New Year’s gathering, every summer barbecue, every “just a quick visit” that turned into hours of laughter and shared memories. Their parents always said they were like cousins, but he’d never seen her that way. Not really. Not since they got older. She was graceful but sharp, warm but private. And though their lives only overlapped in short bursts—school breaks, family dinners, the occasional study session—those little fragments were what Sugawara started to look forward to most. He knew her favorite tea, the way she tucked her hair behind her ear when she was nervous, the quiet strength she carried that most people missed. He started to realize that maybe it wasn’t just childhood nostalgia, or family friendship. Maybe he was falling for her. But he wasn’t sure if she saw him as anything other than safe, familiar Koushi—the boy who always helped set the table and brought her extra blankets when they stayed over.

I sat on the swings, gently swaying back and forth. Her notebook sat in my lap — slightly worn at the edges, with her name carefully written inside the cover. Inside it, folded between pages of math notes, was the letter.

A short, hesitant confession. Addressed to me.

I didn’t mean to find it. But I did. And now I couldn’t not ask.

She arrived a minute later, slightly out of breath, still in her school cardigan and holding my notebook in both hands.

“Sorry,” she said, brushing hair from her face. “I didn’t mean to swap them. I didn’t even notice until—”

“I read it.”

Her words faltered.

She blinked. “...Oh.”

I stood slowly, rubbing the back of my neck. “I wasn’t trying to snoop or anything. I was looking for my homework and it just… fell out.”

She looked like she wanted to disappear into the mulch beneath her shoes.

“It wasn’t supposed to be there,” she mumbled. “It was old. I was going to throw it out.”

“Did you mean it?”

Her head snapped up, startled by the question.

My voice was quieter now. “The letter. You said you liked me. That you’ve liked me since last summer. That you didn’t know what to do about it because you’re ‘practically family.’” I quoted her words softly, smiling a little. “You really think I see you like a cousin or something?”

She opened her mouth. Closed it. “…Don’t you?”

I let out a breath and stepped closer, the soft creak of the swing behind me the only sound between us.

“I’ve had a crush on you since you beat me at trivia night at my own house,” I said, laughing under my breath. “And I’ve been trying to hide it because I figured it’d be weird.”

Her eyes widened.

“So, yeah,” I said with a shrug. “I meant it too.”

She looked at me — really looked at me — like maybe this wasn’t some awkward misunderstanding after all.

“You’re not messing with me?” she asked softly.

I smiled, warm and real.

“I’m Sugawara Koushi. I bring snacks for people who cry during group projects. I don’t mess with people about love letters.”

That made her laugh — nervous, sweet, a little breathless.

I offered her notebook back.

She reached for it — but this time, our hands lingered a little longer when we touched.

“…So,” she said, “what now?”

“Now,” I said, eyes twinkling, “I walk you home. And if we happen to hold hands on the way, I don’t think either of us is going to complain.”