The air outside was crisp—cold enough that each breath felt like a small cloud drifting into the night. The garden by the lakeside was quiet, far quieter than the busy lobby we'd left behind. Only the soft rustling of autumn leaves and the distant ripple of water against the stone edge broke the silence.
Lanterns hung from wooden posts, their faint amber light swaying gently with the wind. It cast long shadows across the grass and illuminated the petals of the late-blooming flowers around us. The surface of Lake Kawaguchiko shimmered faintly beyond the railing, reflecting the moon like a silver coin floating on ink.
I held the violin awkwardly, trying not to let my hands shake—from the cold or from nerves, I wasn't sure. Kaito stood close beside me, adjusting the placement of my fingers on the strings.
"Relax your shoulders," he said softly. "You're too stiff. The bow won't move smoothly like that."
I nodded, though it was hard to relax when he was this close. His breath brushed my cheek every time he spoke. His warmth stood out sharply against the chill of the night. I could smell faint traces of soap and something earthy—maybe the wooden violin case he always carried.
"I'm trying," I whispered. "It just feels… unnatural."
"That's normal." His tone was patient. "You'll get used to it."
His hand lightly touched mine, guiding my movements. For just a second, that touch grounded me—it felt safe, steady, familiar. And yet it also made my heart beat too quickly, like it was trying to escape my chest.
I wanted to enjoy this moment.
But then Kaito suddenly stopped.
His gaze drifted past me, toward the dimly lit pathway leading back toward the inn's garden entrance.
I followed his eyes.
Naoko stood there, her short white hair glowing faintly under the lantern light. She looked surprised—almost frozen in place—like she had walked into something she didn't intend to see. Her soft red eyes flicked between us, and in that moment, something unreadable crossed her face.
Kaito lifted his hand slightly. "Naoko?"
His voice echoed faintly across the quiet garden.
But she didn't answer. She lowered her head, turned slowly, and walked away. Not hurried, not angry… just quietly, like a small wind had pushed her back toward the inn.
And then she was gone.
The moment she disappeared around the hedges, the atmosphere shifted. Kaito's hand lowered, his expression dimming. The gentle warmth he'd carried just seconds ago slipped away into something heavy, something uncertain.
"Kaito…" I murmured, hesitant. "Are you okay?"
"Hm? Ah… sorry." He blinked, as if waking from a trance. "I just... didn't expect to see her here."
Of course he didn't. Neither did I.
But the feeling in my chest tightened anyway.
Because if just seeing Naoko walk away was enough to make him look like that…
then what did my presence even mean?
I forced myself to smile a little and lifted the violin again.
"Let's… continue?"
"Right." He tried returning the smile, but it didn't quite reach his eyes.
He stepped closer again, adjusting the bow in my hand, guiding my wrist into the right angle. The wind brushed past us, tossing a few fallen leaves across the stone path. Lantern light flickered over the lake, and somewhere in the distance, a small boat's bell chimed softly.
It should have felt magical.
Instead, it felt fragile.
Like this moment could break with the slightest touch.
I wanted to believe I mattered to him. I wanted to think that this quiet night by the lakeside, with nothing but us and the sound of water, meant something.
But the way his gaze kept drifting toward the path Naoko had taken…
The way his voice softened only halfway…
The way the warmth in his smile had faded…
All of it pressed into me like invisible weight.
I looked down at my hands—still clumsy, still trembling on the violin—and a quiet thought surfaced:
Maybe I'm just someone he teaches because I asked.
Maybe I'm not someone he stays for.
The bow moved across the strings, producing a shaky, uneven note. Kaito didn't scold me. He gently repositioned my fingers, patient as ever.
Yet no matter how close he stood, or how kind he was, a small hollow feeling stuck in my chest.
A feeling I couldn't shake:
I wish I could be someone important to him.
The cafeteria was louder than usual that day—voices overlapping, chairs scraping, trays clattering. It was lunch break, and every student in the school seemed to be fighting for space. The aroma of freshly baked bread mixed with the sharp scent of canned coffee and instant noodles. It felt chaotic, but somehow comforting.
I stood in line, clutching the strap of my bag with one hand and scanning the shelves with the other. Drinks were arranged in rows: iced milk tea, sports drinks, fruit juices, canned coffee… and one bottle of apple soda—the last one.
Someone in front of me hesitated, staring at the drink fridge like he was solving a math equation instead of choosing lunch.
Short dark hair, slightly messy. Uniform neat, but his tie a little loose. Eyes sharp, but tired—like he carried more thoughts than he ever said out loud.
Hayashi Kaito.
He looked frozen in place, one hand lifted toward the drinks but hovering uncertainly, as if he couldn't decide between coffee or something sweeter.
I didn't even think. I reached forward, slid the fridge door open, and grabbed the last apple soda.
He blinked, startled. Our eyes met briefly—his widened slightly, caught off guard.
"O-oh—sorry. Were you reaching for this?" I asked, forcing a polite smile, even though my heart sped up a little. I wasn't used to talking to him.
"No, it's fine," he said, voice calm and quiet. "I was just… thinking."
His tone was neutral, but not unfriendly. Still, the air between us felt stiff—this was only the second time we'd spoken since we became classmates.
I lifted the bottle halfway. "Do you want it, Hayashi?"
He seemed surprised I knew his name. He looked away for a second, then back at the bottle.
"If you want it, take it," he replied. "Seriously."
The line moved forward, and I stepped aside so others could walk past us.
"Well… then I'll take it," I said softly. "Thank you."
He nodded once, almost a bow. His expression was unreadable.
We walked toward the counter together, the silence between us almost painfully awkward. The cafeteria noise felt too loud, making the distance between our words feel even bigger.
As we waited to pay, he suddenly spoke again—eyes not quite meeting mine.
"Mizuki," he said, carefully. "Do you… recommend that drink?"
I blinked, caught off guard by him using my surname.
"Yes," I answered quickly. "It's my favorite. Not too sweet, but refreshing."
"Is that so?" He looked at the bottle, expression softening just slightly. "Maybe I'll try it next time."
His voice was flat, but something in it felt genuine.
I don't know what came over me, but I found myself smiling—a real one this time, not just polite.
"In that case, I'll make sure to buy two next time," I said without thinking.
He looked up, surprised, and then—barely noticeable—he smiled back. A small, fleeting smile, but it felt like something rare.
"…Thanks," he said quietly.
We paid, stepped away from the counter, and stood awkwardly again.
For a moment I thought we would part ways right there—two classmates who exchanged a few words and then returned to being strangers.
But when he turned toward the hallway that led to the courtyard, I found myself following beside him. Our footsteps echoed lightly against the tile floor, and the crowd noise slowly faded behind us.
We walked in silence at first, both looking straight ahead. Neither of us knew what to say. And yet… something in the quiet felt oddly comfortable.
After a few meters, I finally gathered the courage to speak.
"Hey, Hayashi," I said softly, clutching the apple soda in my hands. "Can I ask something?"
He glanced at me, slightly confused. "Hm?"
"Among the five of us… who do you think is the most attractive?"
My voice trembled a little. I didn't even know why I asked that. Maybe curiosity. Maybe something else.
He stopped walking for half a second, clearly surprised by the sudden question.
Then he looked forward again, his brows slightly furrowed.
"…I'm not really close with any of you," he said quietly. "So I don't think I have the right to choose something like that."
I smiled awkwardly. "Just answer based on what you feel. You don't have to be exact."
He exhaled, a small frustrated sigh—not at me, but at himself.
"You're persistent," he muttered.
"I can be," I replied with a tiny laugh.
He walked a few more steps before answering—slowly, carefully.
"…If I had to say someone," he said, "I think… I was a little interested in Naoko. At least, back then."
I stopped for a moment. Not jealous—not then—but genuinely surprised.
"Naoko?" I repeated. "I wouldn't have guessed."
"It's not because of appearance," he added quickly, shaking his head. "I just… respect her calmness. And the way she notices things without trying. She listens. She observes. There's something steady about her."
His voice softened, almost nostalgic.
"She's not loud. She doesn't try to be seen. But somehow, she always is."
For a moment, I didn't know what to say.
It was the most honest expression I had ever seen on his face.
"I think that's a good reason," I said finally. "You should… pursue that feeling someday."
He blinked, surprised by my straightforward response.
I wasn't in love with him then—not even close. So I meant what I said.
But then he suddenly changed the subject—so abruptly it caught me off guard.
"Anyway," he said, "you're all… interesting in your own ways. Inohana likes swimming. Asagiri likes reading. Suzuki likes being alone, even though she pretends she doesn't. Tachibana loves volleyball so much she forgets to breathe sometimes."
He paused.
"And you—Mizuki—you like writing, right? Stories."
I tilted my head slightly. "How do you know that?"
He scratched his cheek awkwardly. "You always stay late in the library. And you carry too many notebooks."
I laughed—quiet and small. "That's true."
"And what about you?" I asked. "What do you like?"
He stopped walking completely.
For one second, I met his eyes—dark, unreadable, something heavy behind them.
Then he looked away.
"That's not important," he murmured. "Let's not talk about me."
And before I could respond, he changed direction and pointed toward the courtyard doors.
"Come on. Lunch break's almost over."
Just like that, the chance to ask deeper questions disappeared.
As if there was a wall around him—high and quiet and guarded.
We stepped outside, sunlight spilling across the stone steps.
And I realized:
I wanted to know more about him.
Even if I didn't understand why yet.
Even if he kept hiding everything behind a calm voice and distant eyes.
Back then, I thought helping him get close to Naoko was the right choice.
I didn't know how things would change.
Not yet.
Not until much, much later.
And, i'm still remember that day.
The sun was high that morning, warm enough to sting the skin a little, but softened by the occasional breeze sweeping across the school field. Our class was having P.E., and the girls were lining up on one side of the track while the boys finished their stretches near the benches.
From where I stood, tying my hair into a ponytail, my eyes unconsciously drifted toward the far corner of the field.
There they were.
Kaito Hayashi, sitting on the low concrete bench with Naoko Suzuki beside him. Their gym jackets were folded on their laps, and Kaito was holding a water bottle while Naoko leaned slightly toward him, saying something I couldn't hear. A moment later, both of them laughed softly—Naoko covering her mouth with the back of her hand, and Kaito tilting his head a little with that clueless smile he always had when he didn't know how to react.
I blinked, surprised at the strange tightness in my chest.
Why does it feel weird? I wasn't even close with him back then… so why does this bother me?
At that moment, Akane bumped my shoulder lightly as she jogged past.
"Oi, Hana-chan, come on! We're starting warm-ups!"
"Ah—right!" I forced a smile, shaking the thought away.
We began running laps around the field. The sand crunched under my shoes, and my breath grew quicker, but no matter how I tried to focus, my eyes kept drifting back toward the benches. Hayashi and Naoko were still there, talking like they were the only two in the world. Even during the stretches, when everyone else was concentrating, Kaito somehow still found moments to glance at Naoko and say something that made her laugh again.
He looks… different around her.
Relaxed. Natural. Like he didn't have to try.
I wasn't angry. Really, I wasn't. Back then, I didn't feel anything more than mild curiosity. I even thought it was kind of sweet—seeing two quiet people find comfort in each other's company.
But somewhere deep down… there was a small sting. A feeling I didn't understand yet. The kind that sneaks up on you long before you know what it means.
Maybe they're perfect for each other.
That's what I told myself.
And I kept running, pretending that the tightness in my chest was just from the laps.
The night air wrapped around us like thin glass—cold, quiet, and painfully transparent.
After the shaky last note faded from the violin string, I lowered the bow slowly, realizing only then that I hadn't moved—or even breathed properly—for several seconds.
Somewhere during that silence, I had drifted too far into my thoughts.
My gaze had stuck on Kaito, tracing the faint tension in his shoulders, the way his eyes kept searching the pathway where Naoko had disappeared moments ago. It was like the rest of the world no longer existed for him—not the lake, not the lantern light, not even me standing right beside him.
And before I knew it, I was staring.
Just staring.
Like everything inside me had paused.
"Kaito?" I whispered without meaning to.
He blinked and finally turned to face me, confusion flashing briefly in his eyes—like he'd only just remembered I was there.
That tiny hesitation hurt more than I expected.
"Hm? Hana, what's wrong?" His voice softened again, gently pulling me back into reality.
I looked away quickly, pretending to adjust the violin. "Ah—sorry. I spaced out. I didn't mean to stare."
He tilted his head slightly, stepping in front of me so our eyes aligned.
The lantern light caught the edges of his hair, turning them almost silver.
"You looked… distant," he said quietly. "Like you were carrying something heavy."
I felt my chest tighten.
For a second, I considered lying—saying I was just tired, or just cold.
That would be easy. That would be safe.
But instead, all I could do was offer a tiny, weak smile.
"It's nothing. Really. I'm fine."
He didn't buy it—not even a little.
"Hana," he said, voice low but firm. "If something's bothering you, you can tell me. You don't have to hold everything alone."
The words landed deeper than he probably intended.
They weren't loud or dramatic, but they pierced straight through the wall I'd been trying so hard to keep up.
I stared at him, caught between wanting to speak and being terrified of what I might say.
How was I supposed to admit that my heart had been twisting ever since Naoko walked away?
How was I supposed to ask whether I meant anything to him… without sounding selfish and pathetic?
So instead, I swallowed the truth and stayed quiet.
Kaito's expression softened further—not pity, not pressure, but something calm and steady, like quiet assurance.
"I'm not asking because I want to solve your problems," he continued.
"I just… want to understand you. That's all. Even if you're not ready to talk, at least let me listen. Okay?"
My throat tightened.
I nodded slowly, forcing air back into my lungs. "…Okay."
For the first time since Naoko left, he smiled—not a forced one, but warm and gentle.
"Good. And… if you were worried that I wanted to play more, don't."
He looked away for a moment, scratching his cheek like he was embarrassed.
"I'm not that good at performing. I understand the theory better than the actual practice, so I probably sound terrible."
He laughed softly, trying to lighten the mood.
I almost wanted to laugh too.
Almost.
Because even though he was trying to comfort me, even though he was reaching out, there was still that hollow place inside me that whispered quietly:
He doesn't see me the same way he sees her.
I gripped the violin a little tighter, forcing myself to breathe.
"I'm sure," I said with a small smile, "that even if you played terribly, someone out there would still want to listen."
His eyes softened again.
"Maybe," he replied. "But for now, I think we should rest. It's getting cold."
He gently took the violin from my hands and placed it back into its case, clicking the latches one by one.
The sound echoed in the quiet garden—sharp and final.
"Come on," he said, glancing toward the inn. "We should head back before you freeze."
I nodded and followed him, our footsteps slow along the stone path.
The lanterns swayed overhead, painting gold patterns over the ground.
The lake shimmered behind us like a wall of glass.
From the outside, we probably looked peaceful—just two friends walking together under the autumn night sky.
But inside?
Everything was tangled.
Everything was unsaid.
And every step I took was heavy with a thought I couldn't voice:
I wish I knew where I stand in his heart.
I wish I knew if I mattered to him at all.
I looked at his back as he walked ahead, steady and calm as always.
Please… don't let me be the only one feeling this way, Kaito...