Chapter 10: A Good Book, a Bad Idea, and a Camera Shutter

The school library was mostly empty.

Not abandoned—just... underwhelmed. Like a department store in a fantasy novel: filled with potential, but no one looking for treasure yet.

It was the second week of school. Students were still settling in, clubs were recruiting, teachers were easing into their full volume. No one had assigned enough homework yet to drive a desperate wave of studying.

I liked it this way.

I found a seat near the far window, tucked between the literature shelves and a mostly-forgotten beanbag chair that someone had probably died in during the last school festival.

My bag dropped beside me with a soft thud. I took out a random book from the shelf—one with a cracked spine and faded gold lettering.

I didn’t pick it for any particular reason.

But as soon as I read the title, I realized I’d read it before. Years ago. I remembered it being mediocre.

And I was right.

The writing was... serviceable. The pacing was slow. The metaphors came with little neon signs that said “Notice me, I’m deep!”

But despite all that, it had something. Not polish. Not power.

Just... sincerity.

The story followed a couple in their late twenties who had been dating since college. No cheating, no dramatic betrayal. Just boredom. Emotional fatigue. The kind that creeps in when routine swallows everything.

They broke up.

Tried to move on. Met new people. Took up new hobbies. Started to feel alive again—but with other lives, not each other’s.

And then slowly, years later, found themselves again. Older. Different. With new angles to who they were. They started talking again—not like lovers, but like strangers who remembered something beautiful they used to be part of.

It wasn’t a happy ending, but it wasn’t a sad one either.

It was... warm.

Real.

I closed the book and looked out the window. Afternoon sun filtered in through the blinds, casting stripes across my hands. Outside, I could hear the faint bounce of a basketball and distant voices from the tennis court.

Maybe… clubs aren’t so bad.

The thought came quietly, like someone whispering into a dream.

Trying new things. Meeting new people. Having something to do after class besides replaying novels in my head like a broken record...

I wasn’t ready to say I wanted to join a club. But I was ready to think about thinking about it.

And that was something.

Click.

The soft shutter of a camera.

I turned slightly.

A girl stood a few feet away, holding a small DSLR with a silver strap. She had a pageboy hat tilted to one side, a slightly oversized uniform cardigan, and the expression of someone who had just captured a moment she didn’t expect to love.

“Sorry!” she said quickly. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“You didn’t,” I said.

LIE.

She walked over, lowering the camera. Her bag had a small badge on the side: Photography Club.

Figures.

“You looked really thoughtful just now,” she said. “Like... not just reading, but feeling the scene. Kind of sophisticated. Like a scene from a film.”

“Right,” I said, managing a polite nod.

INTERNAL STATUS: PANIC DETECTED.
Trigger: Unplanned human interaction.
Mood: Delicate crisis management.

“I’m Aihara Saki,” she said with a small bow. “Third year. Photography Club. I’m documenting early school life for our board display next month, and, um…”

She held up her camera sheepishly.

“I took a picture of you. Just one. It’s a really good shot. Would it be okay if I used it?”

My brain raced.

Say no.
Politely decline.
Disguise your identity. Transfer schools. Change your name.

But then she tilted her head and gave me the kind of soft, pleading smile that short-circuits logic.

Emotional override detected. Decision compromised by visual guilt trip.

“...Sure,” I said.

“Really? Thank you!” she beamed. “I’ll make sure your name isn’t posted with it. It’s just for the exhibit.”

“That’s fine.”

I could already feel the image appearing in my future like a ghost: Souji Natsume, frozen forever in thoughtful contemplation, halfway to becoming the school’s introvert poster boy.

I reached for my bag.

“Wait!” she said quickly.

I froze.

Here it comes.

She took a small step forward. Not aggressively—just... curiously.

“Do you come here often?” she asked. “The library, I mean.”

“Sometimes,” I replied cautiously.

“I’ve been trying to catch candid shots of students in their element—doing what they love. Most of them just hang out with friends or play sports. But you’re the first person I’ve seen just… reading. Alone. Peacefully.”

She smiled again. Not the pleading one—this one felt genuine.

“Would you be okay with me taking a few more photos? Not right now, but... sometime this week?”

I wanted to say no.

So, so badly.

But there was something in her tone—soft, respectful, gentle—that made it hard to pull up the usual wall.

“Nothing posed,” she added quickly. “Just you doing your thing.”

I let out a breath.

“...Okay.”

“Really?! Great! You don’t even have to talk to me. Just pretend I’m not there.”

“Easier than you think.”

She laughed.

I didn’t.

Not because I wasn’t amused.

I was just already rehearsing how I was going to explain this to myself later.

After she left, I lingered in the library a bit longer. The light was starting to fade. The book sat beside me, still open to the page where the couple said goodbye and hello at the same time.

Maybe... being seen once in a while wasn’t so bad.

Maybe.

But I am absolutely not joining the photography club.
Probably.