Chapter 10: Glimpses Beyond School

The apartment was small, quiet, and always a little too cold in the mornings. But it was hers. Aoi had gotten used to the silence that came with living alone—used to making her own breakfast, folding laundry in the dead quiet, the occasional hum of traffic through thin walls. It was a rhythm she’d learned to live by, one built around responsibility and routine.

School was only one part of her life.

The other part—the one people at school rarely thought about—was work. She picked up shifts whenever she could. Convenience store clerk on weekday evenings. Inventory sorting on weekends. Occasional help at a bookstore when the owner needed an extra hand. It wasn’t glamorous, but she didn’t need it to be. She just needed it to pay rent, utilities, food... and a little extra for emergencies.

Saturday mornings were usually quiet. After Friday's long shift, Aoi liked to take things slower, letting herself rest a bit before heading into another job. But this particular Saturday, she was already out, walking down a familiar street with a bag slung over her shoulder, her hair falling loosely around her face. She hadn’t bothered to tie it back yet.

The sun was gentle that day, casting a warm glow over the buildings. She wasn’t in a rush, just walking to her next shift. Her mind drifted—half-thinking about the tasks ahead, half-lost in the usual morning haze.

Until she passed a familiar café window.

It was one of those cozy-looking places, the kind people liked to sit in while reading or doing homework. She rarely had time—or reason—to go into cafés like that. But something made her glance sideways as she walked by.

There, behind the counter, tying on an apron with clumsy fingers and a slightly flustered expression, was Hikari.

Aoi stopped in her tracks.

It took her a moment to realize she’d actually stopped walking. Her body just... reacted. She stood there, watching through the glass as Hikari fumbled with the register, glanced nervously at the menu, and bowed to a customer with a polite smile that didn’t quite hide her nerves.

She looked different outside of school. Not just in appearance—but in energy. A little more awkward. A little more unsure. Yet somehow still glowing in that soft, subtle way she always did. Aoi watched as she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, her brow furrowing when she couldn’t find the right size lid for a cup. Her hair was tied back in a ponytail, a practical choice for work.

She wasn’t supposed to see this.

It felt weirdly intimate—like she’d stumbled into a part of Hikari’s world that wasn’t meant to be shared. But Aoi couldn’t tear her eyes away. Something in her chest tightened a little, a kind of quiet ache she didn’t know how to name.

She hadn’t known Hikari worked.

She thought about how tired she’d looked that week. The distracted glances. The soft "just a lot on my mind." And now, seeing her behind the counter, trying to do everything right... it clicked into place.

They weren’t so different, after all.

A customer waved a hand to get Hikari’s attention, and she jolted into motion, bowing again before taking their order. Her expression was polite, but Aoi noticed the way she kept stealing glances at the written instructions behind the counter—like she was still learning everything on the fly.

Aoi exhaled quietly.

She looked down at the bag she was carrying—her work uniform folded neatly inside. The shift was still waiting, but suddenly it felt a little heavier.

She took one last look at Hikari through the glass. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to say something. Would it be weird? Would it fluster her again like in class? Or would she pretend not to notice?

In the end, Aoi didn’t go inside. She just watched for a moment longer, then turned and walked away.

But something lingered.

Not just the image of Hikari behind the counter, but the realization that both of them were carrying more than what they showed at school. That there were layers to Hikari, quiet ones, just like her own.

And for the first time, Aoi wondered what it would be like to sit across from her—not in a classroom, not by chance—but intentionally. Just the two of them. Talking. Sharing the parts of themselves no one else saw.

The thought stayed with her through her shift.

And even later that night, when she returned to her apartment and slipped into the stillness of her quiet room, she couldn’t shake the image of Hikari behind the counter, struggling with coffee lids and trying not to panic.

She smiled—not quite out of amusement, but something softer. Fonder.

Maybe next time, she’d go inside.