Chapter 2

Morning light spilled across Hikata's desk, illuminating dust motes that danced in golden rays. He had been awake for hours, mathematics homework long completed, his thoughts occupied instead by the subtle shift in Hanaki's expression yesterday—that moment when conversation had transcended beyond equations and parfaits to something raw and honest.

*Truth can be lonely.*

Her words echoed in his mind as he traced the edge of his textbook, feeling the slight roughness of paper against his fingertip. What had she meant? The question had kept him awake through the night, staring at his ceiling where moonlight painted abstract patterns.

The walk to school stretched before him, autumn air crisp against his face. Maple leaves carpeted the pathway in tapestries of copper and gold, releasing earthy fragrances with each step. No Satoshi at the corner today—a text message had informed Hikata that his friend had caught a cold. The solitude felt appropriate somehow, giving him space to process the rapid evolution of events.

"Hikata-kun!"

Hanaki's voice came from behind, accompanied by the rhythmic sound of running footsteps. He turned to see her approaching, cheeks flushed from exertion, school bag bouncing against her hip with each stride. Today her hair was pulled back with a blue ribbon that matched her eyes, revealing the delicate curve of her neck.

"You're early," he said, his voice catching slightly.

"So are you." She fell into step beside him, her breathing gradually steadying. "I wanted to catch you before school."

"Is something wrong with the math problems?"

She shook her head, the ribbon fluttering with the movement. "No, nothing like that. I just..." Her eyes met his briefly before focusing on the path ahead. "I wanted to give you this."

From her bag, she produced a small envelope, cream-colored with his name written in careful calligraphy. The paper felt textured against his palm as he accepted it, a subtle weight that belied its significance.

"Don't open it now," she said quickly, color deepening across her cheeks. "Read it later, when you're alone."

The envelope seemed to burn in his pocket throughout the day. During literature class, while classmates analyzed the symbolism in Kawabata's "Snow Country," Hikata's thoughts drifted to the unread message. His pencil hovered motionless above notes half-completed, his gaze drawn repeatedly to Hanaki's profile three rows ahead. When she turned slightly to retrieve something from her bag, her eyes caught his for a heartbeat before both looked away.

Lunchtime arrived with the clatter of desks being rearranged and the metallic snap of bento boxes opening. Hikata found himself on the rooftop, alone with the letter and the vast expanse of sky above. The seal parted easily beneath his thumb, revealing a single sheet of paper folded precisely into thirds.

Her handwriting flowed across the page in elegant strokes:

*Hikata-kun,*

*There are things I find difficult to say aloud. When you spoke about numbers not lying like people do, it struck a chord. I've been surrounded by people my whole life, yet often feel completely alone. Everyone sees Hanaki the class representative, Hanaki the perfect student, Hanaki who always smiles. No one sees the real me.*

*Except yesterday, in that moment, I felt you might.*

*Perhaps that sounds strange. Maybe I've misunderstood completely. But something has been growing between us these past days—a connection I can't quite define but don't want to lose.*

*The movie on Saturday isn't because my friends canceled. There were never any friends coming. I just wanted to spend time with you, but lacked the courage to ask directly.*

*If you feel I've overstepped, please forgive my presumption. We can continue as study partners, and nothing more needs to be said.*

*—Hanaki*

The paper trembled slightly in his grip as a breeze caught its edges. Hikata read the letter three times, each reading revealing nuances he'd missed before. His chest tightened with an emotion he couldn't name—something between elation and terror.

She had seen him. Not just the quiet student who excelled at mathematics, but something deeper.

The afternoon classes passed in a blur of incomprehensible lectures and half-heard questions. When the final bell rang, Hikata gathered his belongings with mechanical precision, his mind elsewhere. At the classroom door, he glanced back to find Hanaki watching him, her expression questioning. He gave a slight nod—acknowledgment of her letter, though he had no idea what he would say when they were finally alone.

Their study session took place in the school library that day, autumn sunlight filtering through tall windows to illuminate ancient wooden shelves. They claimed a table in the far corner, away from other students. Textbooks opened to calculus problems that suddenly seemed trivial compared to the unspoken conversation hovering between them.

"About the letter," he began after fifteen minutes of stilted mathematical discussions.

"You don't have to say anything," she interrupted, eyes fixed on her notebook where she had been drawing perfect circles with her compass. "I shouldn't have—"

"I feel the same way." The words escaped before he could analyze them, simple and unadorned.

Her hand stilled, the compass point leaving a small indentation in the paper. "You do?"

"Yes." He searched for the right words, wishing he possessed the eloquence to explain the complexity of his feelings. "I've always noticed you, Hanaki. Not just because you're..." He hesitated, uncomfortable with compliments. "Not just because of how you appear to everyone else. There's something about the way you think, how you question things instead of accepting them. It's like you're seeing the world differently."

A small smile curved her lips. "That's what I've always thought about you."

Their gazes met across mathematical equations and graph paper, a moment of perfect understanding transcending the need for further explanation.

"There's something I need to tell you," she said finally, closing her textbook. "About why I asked for your help specifically."

Hikata waited, aware of the library's ambient sounds fading into insignificance—the rustle of turning pages, whispered conversations, the scrape of chair legs against wooden flooring.

"Remember last semester's cherry blossom viewing? When everyone went to Ueno Park?"

He nodded. The class had gone together, but he had found a quiet spot away from the boisterous picnickers, seeking solitude beneath the blooming trees.

"I saw you sitting alone with your sketchbook. You were drawing the flowers, but not the way everyone else does." Her fingers traced patterns on the textbook cover. "You were drawing the spaces between the petals, the negative space that gives the blossoms their form. I watched you for almost twenty minutes before my friends called me away."

Heat rose to Hikata's face. "I didn't know anyone saw that."

"That's when I realized you see the world differently too." Her voice softened. "I kept trying to find ways to talk to you, but you always seemed so... contained. Complete within yourself. Like you didn't need anyone else."

The revelation stunned him. All this time, while he had been watching her from a distance, she had been noticing him too.

"I'm not good with people," he admitted. "Words don't come easily."

"I know." Her hand moved across the table until her fingertips rested centimeters from his. "But when you explain mathematics, when you're talking about something that matters to you, the words flow naturally. I wanted to be someone you could talk to like that."

Outside the library windows, the setting sun painted the sky in watercolor hues of amber and rose. They gathered their books in a silence that felt comfortable now, weighted with new understanding.

As they walked toward the station, their pace slowed deliberately, neither wanting the evening to end. Street lamps flickered to life around them, casting elongated shadows that merged and separated with each step. When their hands brushed accidentally, neither pulled away. Instead, Hikata found the courage to let his fingers intertwine with hers.

Her hand felt small in his, warm despite the evening chill. No words passed between them, only the synchronization of their steps and the gentle pressure of palm against palm.

At the station crossing, they would need to part ways—Hanaki to the east line, Hikata to the west. They stood at this junction, reluctant to break the connection.

"Tomorrow," Hanaki said softly, "would you want to have lunch together? On the rooftop?"

"Yes," he answered simply.

She smiled then, radiant in the glow of streetlights. Standing on tiptoe, she leaned forward and pressed her lips briefly against his cheek—a fleeting touch that seemed to stop time completely. Then she stepped back, eyes bright with something new.

"Goodnight, Hikata-kun."

He watched her disappear into the station, his fingertips touching the spot where her lips had been. Around him, the city continued its eternal rhythm—car engines purring, pedestrian signals beeping, the distant rumble of trains beneath his feet. Yet everything had changed.

The night air carried the scent of approaching rain as Hikata turned toward home. For once, the empty house waiting for him didn't seem so lonely. He had mathematics homework to complete, a movie to anticipate, and the lingering warmth of Hanaki's presence to accompany him through the darkness.

Above, stars emerged between gathering clouds, their light traveling across vast emptiness to reach him—distant yet somehow intimate, like the connection growing between two souls who had found each other in the quiet spaces between words.