The quiet rhythm of pages turning and the soft ticking of the wall clock wrapped the school library in a cocoon of peace. It was Izumi's favorite place on campus. Not just because it was silent, or because it had shelves full of manga hidden behind thick academic texts, but because it was one of the few places where he could breathe.
He sat by the window in his usual spot, a copy of "Knights of the Lost Realm" manga volume 14 hidden inside a generic-looking literature book. Sunlight spilled through the window, painting warm patterns across the pages and his desk.
And yet, Izumi couldn't focus. His eyes were locked on the speech bubble, but the words didn't register. His thoughts were still trapped in yesterday—the rumors, Ayato's voice, the way her green eyes had met his so honestly.
"No matter what people say, just know that I'm here, okay?"
He let out a quiet sigh. That one sentence had echoed in his mind all night, invading his dreams and turning his stomach into knots.
He wasn't used to this. Not to feelings. Not to someone caring about him so directly. For most of his life, Izumi had flown under the radar. Not disliked, not bullied—but invisible. He existed in the blank spaces between conversations. And he was fine with that.
But Ayato Yamada had walked straight into those blank spaces with a light so bright, he couldn't look away.
The sound of footsteps on the polished floor drew him out of his thoughts. Familiar. Calm. Izumi glanced up and immediately tensed.
There she was.
Ayato.
She was holding a stack of books against her chest, dressed neatly in her school uniform, her white hair pulled into a low ponytail today. When she noticed him, her face lit up—not with the exaggerated brightness some girls used, but with a soft, genuine expression that made Izumi's chest tighten.
"Mind if I sit here?" she asked, gesturing to the empty seat across from him.
Izumi hesitated. He wanted to say yes, but his throat decided to betray him with silence. So instead, he nodded stiffly.
Ayato sat down and placed her books on the table. He noticed they were mostly classics and some books on poetry. She always had that refined taste, like she'd stepped out of a different era.
"You always come here after class, don't you?" she asked, resting her chin on her palm.
"Yeah," Izumi said, eyes flicking away. "It's… quiet."
She smiled. "I like that about you, you know."
That made his heart skip. "What… do you mean?"
"You don't pretend. You're always just… you."
Izumi looked down at his hands. No one had ever said that to him. He didn't even think there was anything to like about someone like him.
A silence fell between them, but it wasn't uncomfortable. It was that rare kind of silence where presence mattered more than words.
Ayato suddenly reached into her bag and took something out—a small bento box, wrapped neatly in a checkered cloth. She placed it on the table and slid it toward him.
"I made extra today," she said with a shy smile. "Thought you might want some."
Izumi blinked. "You… made this?"
She nodded. "Don't worry, I taste-tested everything. No poison."
He laughed before he realized it—soft and small, but real. She chuckled too, clearly pleased she'd gotten a reaction.
Izumi slowly unwrapped the cloth and opened the lid. Inside was a neatly packed bento: tamagoyaki, rice shaped like a cat face, some sausages cut into octopuses, and a few cherry tomatoes arranged like flower petals.
"It's cute…" he muttered.
"You're cute when you say that," Ayato teased, then instantly turned red. "I-I mean the way you said it was cute! Not that you're—I mean, well…"
They both stared at each other, caught in the moment. Ayato's face was flushed pink, and Izumi felt like his entire body was overheating.
Something about that clumsy honesty made his heart flutter.
"I'll try it," he said quietly, taking a bite of the tamagoyaki.
It was sweet and soft, just like how his mom used to make it. Except his mom had stopped cooking like this years ago.
"…It's really good."
Ayato beamed. "I'm glad."
Another silence, this one filled with a new kind of tension—gentler, more curious.
"Izumi-kun," she said after a moment, voice unusually hesitant, "Can I ask you something?"
He looked up.
"Are you… afraid of being close to someone?"
The question struck him in the chest, more direct than any whisper or rumor.
He opened his mouth to deny it—but couldn't. He lowered his eyes again, fingers tightening around the bento chopsticks.
"…Maybe," he whispered.
Ayato reached across the table, just enough for her fingers to lightly touch his.
"You don't have to answer right away," she said. "But I just want you to know—I won't disappear, even if you take your time."
For the first time, Izumi realized how scary it was to let someone in. But scarier than that… was the thought of Ayato walking away.
"I'll… try," he murmured. "To figure out how I feel."
Ayato gave a soft smile, her eyes warm and full of something deeper than just friendship. "That's all I ask."
As they sat there together in the library, surrounded by the quiet comfort of books and spring sunlight, Izumi felt something shift. Something small, but real.
It wasn't love yet.
But it was the beginning of something.
The school bell rang for the end of lunch, but neither of them moved.
Izumi stared at the empty bento box in front of him, chopsticks still in hand. Ayato was quietly watching him, her green eyes soft, a thoughtful smile playing on her lips.
"…We should probably head back," Izumi finally said, his voice low.
"Mm, probably," Ayato replied, making no effort to move.
But even as he packed up the bento carefully, folding the cloth exactly the way she had, there was a strange heaviness in the air. Not discomfort—just a quiet reluctance. As if neither of them wanted to leave the warmth of that small, shared space in the library.
They walked side by side through the corridor. The bustle of students returning to class seemed oddly distant, like background noise to the bubble of silence that floated between the two of them.
Izumi wasn't used to walking with someone. His footsteps usually echoed alone. But now, Ayato matched his pace—perfectly, naturally. It felt foreign… and yet nice.
As they reached the classroom door, Ayato turned to him.
"Hey… can we hang out again after school? Just for a little while."
Izumi hesitated. "…Sure."
The word surprised even him.
He'd never agreed to anything like that so easily. But the smile that bloomed on Ayato's face made it feel like the right decision.
---
The last period dragged on painfully.
Izumi stared out the window instead of the blackboard, his thoughts wandering to the library, to the taste of Ayato's tamagoyaki, to the feel of her fingers barely brushing his.
"Are you… afraid of being close to someone?"
Her words echoed again. He didn't know the answer. Or maybe he did, and just wasn't ready to admit it.
But part of him—some hidden, braver part—was starting to wonder what it would feel like to not be so alone anymore.
When the final bell rang, Izumi waited.
He didn't even have to go looking—Ayato was already by the door, holding her bag and smiling like she'd known he'd say yes all along.
"Come on," she said brightly. "Let's go!"
"Where?" he asked, slinging his own bag over his shoulder.
"You'll see," she replied with a playful wink.
---
They walked together down the school steps and into the courtyard. The cherry blossoms had started to fall again, fluttering like confetti in the gentle spring breeze. Ayato led the way toward the back garden—a lesser-used path with a small bench beneath a tall sakura tree.
"I used to come here during middle school," she said, brushing some petals off the bench before sitting down. "It's quiet. No one really comes here."
Izumi sat beside her, the gap between them not too wide, but not too close either.
The sky was beginning to turn gold, the last rays of sunlight filtering through the petals above. It looked like something out of a shoujo manga—Izumi half-expected sparkles and glitter to float around her.
Ayato leaned back, looking up at the branches. "I like this kind of quiet."
Izumi glanced at her. "It's different from the library quiet."
"Yeah," she smiled. "The library is calm, but this? This feels… peaceful. Like the world can stop for a moment."
He nodded slowly. He knew what she meant.
The two of them sat in that silence for a long moment. Not awkward. Not forced. Just… there.
"Izumi-kun," Ayato said suddenly, not looking at him, "Do you ever wish you could change who you are?"
He blinked. "What do you mean?"
She hugged her knees to her chest. "Like… being more outgoing. More expressive. Like everyone else. Sometimes I feel like I'm pretending too hard."
Izumi tilted his head. "You're not pretending."
She looked at him, surprised.
"You're… honest. I don't think I've ever met someone like that."
Ayato's cheeks turned pink. "You're the first person who's ever said that to me."
Izumi smiled faintly. "Well… it's true."
A few petals drifted down, landing in her hair. Without thinking, Izumi reached out and brushed one away. Their eyes met.
And suddenly, the air felt different.
Neither of them spoke. The world had, for just a moment, paused—just like she said. Like the space between heartbeats, the breath before a confession.
But neither spoke it.
Not yet.
"I'm glad you're here," she said softly.
Izumi's fingers froze for a moment before pulling back. "…Me too."
---
They stayed until the sun began to dip below the horizon. When they finally stood up, Ayato stretched and smiled.
"We should get going."
Izumi nodded.
They walked again, shoulder to shoulder, through the quiet paths behind the school. He noticed her hand brush against his once or twice, but neither of them took the next step.
Maybe that was okay.
As they reached the front gate, Ayato looked at him again.
"Same time tomorrow?"
"…Yeah."
She grinned. "Then it's a date!"
He choked. "W-What?"
"Kidding!" she laughed, waving as she turned away. "Unless… you want it to be."
Before he could respond, she was already walking off, her white hair glowing in the setting sun, cherry blossoms trailing in her wake.
Izumi stood frozen for a moment, heart thumping in a way that manga panels often described but he'd never understood until now.
He touched his chest lightly.
"What is this feeling?"
Whatever it was… he didn't want it to end
That night, Izumi lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling.
The events of the day replayed in his mind like scenes from an anime—too surreal, too gentle to be real. The way Ayato had smiled when he ate her bento, the peace of the hidden sakura garden, the soft warmth of her hand brushing against his.
He turned his head to the side. On his desk, a single sakura petal rested beside his manga volume. One that had fallen into his hair and slipped out when he got home.
He hadn't thrown it away.
He didn't want to.
"Same time tomorrow?"
The way she'd said it—playful, sincere—still echoed in his mind.
He pressed his fingers lightly to his chest. His heart thumped once, and he whispered, "Ayato…"
She was different. And somehow, in the strangest, smallest ways, she had already become part of his quiet days. Like the softest brushstroke of color on a gray canvas.
He didn't know if this was love.
He didn't know what to call it.
But he knew he didn't want to go back to how things were before.
Not anymore.
---
The next morning, Izumi arrived at school earlier than usual.
It was odd, being early without any particular reason. He wandered into the library—his safe space—and sat down at their usual spot. The familiar smell of old books wrapped around him like a soft blanket.
He opened his manga but didn't read.
Instead, he waited.
Ten minutes passed.
Then fifteen.
He started wondering if maybe she wouldn't come.
Did I misread yesterday?
Just as doubt began to cloud his thoughts—
"Good morning!"
Ayato's cheerful voice cut through the silence like sunlight breaking clouds. She stood at the entrance, her white hair catching the morning light, her green eyes bright.
"You're early," she said, walking over and sitting beside him.
"So are you," he replied, a little more relaxed now.
"I wanted to see you."
Her words landed with weight.
Izumi blinked, not knowing how to respond.
Ayato pulled out a small book from her bag. "Hey, I brought something today. Thought you might like it."
He looked. It wasn't manga—it was a light novel.
"You read these too?" he asked.
"Sometimes," she smiled. "Especially the ones with gentle romance. Where the characters don't confess right away, but just slowly grow closer."
Izumi stared at the book cover. Two high school students beneath cherry blossoms. A boy with black hair. A girl with white.
His throat tightened a little.
"I thought," Ayato continued softly, "maybe we're like that too."
He looked at her. She wasn't joking. Her eyes held something honest. Vulnerable.
His fingers touched the edge of the book.
"…Yeah," he said quietly. "Maybe we are."
---
After school that day, they didn't go to the sakura garden.
Instead, Ayato suggested walking home together.
They took the long way—through quiet streets and shaded paths where spring flowers bloomed along fences. She talked about her favorite anime (a magical girl series he had watched too but never admitted), and he listened, sometimes adding small comments.
When she tripped slightly on a loose stone, he instinctively reached out and grabbed her arm.
Their eyes met.
"…Thank you," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
Izumi's hand lingered a second longer than necessary before he pulled away.
That warmth stayed.
As they reached the neighborhood where they had to part ways, Ayato slowed down.
"Hey… Izumi-kun?"
He turned to face her.
"Even if you're quiet, even if you like to be alone sometimes… I want to be part of your world."
His breath caught.
"I don't need anything more than that. Just… let me stay by your side."
Izumi didn't know how to answer.
But this time, he didn't run away.
He nodded.
"…Okay."
Her smile was brighter than any spring day.
"See you tomorrow," she said, and walked away, the hem of her uniform fluttering with each step.
Izumi stood there long after she left.
Somewhere in his chest, something had begun to bloom.
Maybe it was love.
Maybe it was something even gentler.
But whatever it was—it was hers.
And for the first time, he welcomed it.