~ CHAPTER 2 – Another One Lost? ~

Shoichi smiled at me today.

It wasn’t a big smile — barely more than a curve at the corner of his mouth. But it was real. And it was mine.

That’s what scared me the most.

The university festival is coming up. Everyone talks about it like it’s a holiday — club booths, food stalls, student performances. Masumi is, of course, on the planning committee. Which means I’ll be watching from the background again. Which is fine. I like the background.

Mostly.

I’m early to class — again — so I sit near the window, watching campus slowly come alive below. Then I feel it — that quiet tension in the air that means someone’s watching me.

I don’t have to turn around to know who it is.

Masumi slides into the seat beside me with a soft exhale.

“You and Shoichi talk a lot lately,” she says lightly, flipping open her sleek black notebook.

“He’s in two of my classes,” I reply. “We just… talk.”

Masumi hums, tapping her pen. “He’s interesting. Quiet, but smart. Kind of artistic.”

I don’t say anything.

She leans in slightly. Her voice lowers.

“Just don’t get your hopes up too much.”

That stings more than it should.

I look at her finally. “Why not?”

She shrugs. “I’ve seen that look before. Boys like him? They don’t stay.”

After class, I rush down the stairs and straight outside — chest tight, head burning.

I don’t even notice where I’m walking until I hear a familiar voice.

“Yasuko?”

I look up.

Shoichi stands beside one of the food trucks near the arts building, holding a coffee in each hand. His hair’s a little messy. His smile is small, but sincere.

“You okay?”

I hesitate — then nod.

He offers me one of the drinks. “Thought you might need this. Black, no sugar, right?”

My hands close around the warm cup. I stare at it, then at him.

He remembered.

He noticed.

Masumi’s voice echoes in my head: They don’t stay.

Shoichi looks at me, concerned, flickering across his face.

But I just smile back — soft and trembling.

“Thanks,” I say. “You’re… really kind.”

His expression shifts, just a little. Like I’ve said something that matters.

He gestures to the bench nearby. “Sit with me?”

And I do.

*

*

*

We sat side by side on the bench.

The festival booths are being built in the quad across from us. Some students hammering, some arguing over banner placement. The sky is a soft, washed-out blue. The breeze smells like paper and fried food and anticipation.

Shoichi sips his coffee slowly. His sleeve brushes mine, but he doesn’t move away. I don’t either.

“I used to think love was supposed to feel... loud,” I say suddenly. I don’t even know where it comes from.

Shoichi glances sideways. “Loud?”

I nod. “Like in dramas. Fireworks. Screaming at the rain. Running through airports.”

A soft smile tugs at his mouth. “That sounds exhausting.”

“It is,” I admit. “But that’s how I thought it had to be.”

He tilts his head, thoughtful. “And now?”

“Now…” I look down at my coffee cup, fingers tracing the lid. “Now I think maybe real love feels like… not having to explain yourself.”

Shoichi’s quiet for a second. Then:

“I hope that’s true.”

We don’t say anything else for a while. And that’s okay.

After a few minutes, Shoichi digs into his bag and pulls out a folded piece of paper.

“I was going to wait,” he mutters, almost shy. “But here.”

He hands it to me.

It’s another sketch — more detailed this time. The same bench. The same tree. But now the second figure is fully drawn. A boy and girl sitting side by side, just close enough to suggest something. And between them, two coffee cups.

I feel my chest catch.

“You finished it,” I whisper.

Shoichi nods. “It didn’t feel right leaving it empty.”

That’s when I know.

I like him.

Really, truly, in-the-center-of-my-chest like him.

And that means I’m scared.

Because every time I’ve liked someone before —

She noticed.

And when Masumi notices someone I love...

They stop looking at me.

*

*

*

The drawing rests in my lap.

My fingers trace the edges, careful not to smudge the pencil lines. Two cups. Two figures on a bench. One of them looks like me. The other… I want to believe it’s him.

Shoichi sits quietly beside me, his shoulder just close enough to feel. He’s not looking at me — just watching the breeze stir the branches overhead like he belongs in this moment. Like I do too.

And for once, I let myself believe that maybe, just maybe, this time won’t end the way it always does.

“Yasuko!”

I flinch.

Her voice cuts through the quiet like the sound of glass tapping on tile.

I glance up.

Masumi is crossing the quad with that same composed grace she wears like perfume. Pale pink blouse. Notebook tucked under her arm. Her hair is perfect, not a strand out of place.

Of course she looks like she just stepped out of a magazine. Of course she saw us.

“Hey,” she says as she reaches us, her tone warm, casual. “Shoichi, right? I think we met at that design panel.”

Shoichi nods, polite. “Yeah. You asked about space and memory.”

Masumi smiles. “I liked what you said. It stuck with me.”

He smiles back — that quiet, thoughtful smile — and my heart sinks a little. It’s the same smile he gave me earlier. But somehow… It feels different now.

Masumi turns to me next. “Didn’t know you two were close.”

I try to answer, but the words stick in my throat.

Shoichi steps in without hesitation.

“We’re getting there.”

His voice is calm. Sure. He glances my way when he says it — like he means it.

Masumi notices.

She doesn’t say anything more. Just smiles like it’s nothing. “Well, I’ve got a meeting,” she says, and waves before turning back across the quad.

But just before she disappears, she looks back.

One quick glance over her shoulder. No expression. No reason.

But I know what it means.

It always starts like this.

She sees someone I care about.

And then, piece by piece, I lose them.

Not because she wants to hurt me.

Not because she says a single cruel word.

Just because she’s her — and I’m not.

I clutch the drawing in my lap a little tighter, the edges soft beneath my fingertips.

Because this moment — this calm, quiet peace beside someone who sees me —

It might already be slipping away.

*

*

*

I watch Masumi disappear into the crowd like she always does — effortless, weightless, like she’s never had to chase anything in her life. She’s never had to wonder if someone would stay.

She doesn’t even have to try.

She is just so perfect.

Shoichi is still beside me.

He hasn’t said a word since she left, but I can feel him watching me. My hands won’t stop trembling around the sketch. I pretend to study it, even though I already memorized every detail.

“I’m sorry,” I murmured.

Shoichi blinks. “For what?”

I hesitate.

For her.

For me.

For the part of me that already believes this is over.

“…Nothing,” I say instead.

He tilts his head slightly, as if he wants to ask more — but doesn’t.

Instead, he says gently, “I don’t get scared off that easily, Yasuko.”

The way he says my name is different from how anyone else says it. Softer. Like it matters. Like I matter.

But I’ve heard that before. And the ending is always the same.

So I smile — a small, crooked thing — and fold the drawing in half.

Just in case I lose him too.