Chapter 2 – A Name in the Notes

I didn’t know what I expected after that day. Maybe that she’d talk to me. Maybe that I’d find another bento box on my desk with a new note. Maybe both. Maybe neither.

But Monday came, and the desk was empty.

No lunch. No note.

Only the usual morning chill and the hum of fluorescent lights.

I wasn’t disappointed. Not exactly. But my fingers hesitated when I pulled out my textbooks, as if some part of me had hoped she’d say something more.

Instead, there was nothing.

---

Reina Kisaragi walked in a few minutes before the bell rang.

She always walked like her shoes can never make a sound.

Her uniform was perfect, as usual. Crisp white blouse, navy blazer, ribbon tied just right. Her black hair was pulled into a side braid today neater than last Friday’s, not a single strand out of place.

She didn’t look my way.

She sat down, opened her textbook, and placed her pen neatly on the desk. Everything about her was smooth, practiced and quiet.

From the outside, she was just the “refined girl” in class.

But I’d seen the way her fingers shook when I thanked her.

And now, I couldn’t stop noticing things.

Like how she always read with one hand holding the corner of the page, as if she was scared it might flip too loudly.

Or how she always looked out the window for exactly seven seconds before class started.

Or how, when someone called her name during roll call, her voice barely reached the front of the room.

---

During lunch, I found myself watching her from the corner of my eye.

She always ate alone not because people avoided her, but because Reina seemed to keep a polite distance from everyone. She’d sit by the window with her own bento, chopsticks held delicately, eating one bite at a time.

She didn’t rush. She didn’t check her phone. She just… sat quietly, looking out the window between bites.

There was a small thermos next to her lunch today probably soup. Steam coming up from the lid.

That’s when I saw her pause.

She looked down at her food.

Then, very slowly, she pulled a small notebook from her tote bag and opened it beside her.

She flipped to a page already filled with neat lines of handwriting.

Then she started writing.

Her expression didn’t change much but I could see it in her eyes. Something soft. Focused. Even warm??

It didn’t look like homework.

It looked like… thoughts. Something she kept only for herself. A diary?

A page turned.

A wind fluttered her braid slightly.

She placed one hand on the edge of the paper to keep it still. The other held the pen, moving smoothly across the page.

From where I sat, I couldn’t read a word. But for some reason, I wanted to.

Not to intrude just to understand her a little better.

---

After school, I stayed behind to return a book to the library.

When I walked past the courtyard, I noticed someone kneeling by the flower beds near the fence.

Black hair. White ribbon.

Reina.

She wasn’t wearing her blazer anymore just her blouse and skirt, sleeves rolled up slightly. A small watering can sat beside her. She was gently patting the soil around the roots of a plant, fingers dusted with dirt.

No one else was around.

Her back was straight. Movements careful, almost too gentle.

As if the flowers might bruise if she touched them the wrong way.

She moved to the next plant and tilted the watering can slowly.

I watched as the water flowed evenly, not a drop wasted. She didn’t look up. Didn’t seem to notice me standing there.

That was the first time I saw her smile.

It was small.

Faint.

But it felt real.

Not the polite kind one people give when thanked.

Not the nervous flicker I saw when she handed me a bento box.

This was pure happiness.

The kind you feel when no one’s watching.

---

I didn’t say anything.

Just turned, quietly, and walked away.

---

That night, I made rice and miso soup for dinner. Nothing special. Just something warm.

While the soup boiled, I sat at the table with the last note she gave me.

> “I’m sorry I couldn’t say it out loud. But I hope the food said what I couldn’t.”

I read it again.

Then I flipped the paper over.

On the back, I wrote two words in small, blocky letters:

> “Thank you.”

---

Tuesday morning, I came early again.

I placed a small paper-wrapped cookie on the corner of her desk, underneath her textbook.

That was all.

Just once.

Then I sat down and waited.

---

She entered just before the bell, like always.

I watched her stop for the slightest moment when she noticed the cookie.

She didn’t smile.

She didn’t react.

But she tucked it gently into her bag like it meant something.

I think she knew.

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