~ CHAPTER 4 – He Chose Me ~

{ Yasuko’s POV }

The drawing’s still in my bag.

Folded neatly, tucked between my notebooks — like a secret I’m afraid to ruin by looking at too closely.

I haven’t shown anyone.

Not because I’m hiding it.

But because I want it to be just mine for a little while longer.

Shoichi asked if I wanted to meet him at the greenhouse behind the art wing.

It’s a quiet place — mostly used by botany majors and the occasional couple looking for somewhere to hide. The air always smells like soil and citrus, and the afternoon light makes the glass walls glow like something from a dream.

When I arrive, he’s already there. Sitting on the low stone planter, hands in his pockets, looking like he hasn’t moved in a while.

He sees me, and smiles.

Not the kind of smile that demands anything. Not the kind that needs to be returned.

Just one that says, I’m glad you came.

I sit beside him, close enough that our knees almost touch.

He doesn’t speak right away.

Neither do I.

The air is thick with the smell of lemon trees and warm moss. A single bee drifts by lazily, ignoring us.

Shoichi turns his head just slightly. “You’re quiet today.”

I shrug. “Trying not to ruin it.”

“Ruin what?”

“This.” I gesture vaguely at the greenhouse. At him. At the stillness between us.

He chuckles — soft, not mocking. “You couldn’t ruin it.”

For a long time, I’ve lived in space after things fell apart. I’ve memorized the steps — the warning signs, the excuses, the slow fade-out.

So I wait for it.

Even now.

I wait for him to change his tone. To say something that makes me feel like I’m dreaming too much again.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he reaches into his backpack and pulls out a folded sheet of paper.

Another drawing.

This one is different.

It’s me — unmistakably me — sitting beneath the lemon tree. My hair’s half-tied, my hand resting on my lap, expression somewhere between cautious and calm.

There’s something in my eyes I don’t recognize. Something soft. Hopeful.

“Is this… how you see me?” I whisper.

Shoichi doesn’t look away. “It’s how I’ve always seen you.”

The silence after that is loud.

My throat tightens. I stare down at the drawing again, afraid to speak.

Afraid of what comes next.

But Shoichi leans a little closer.

“I like you, Yasuko.”

The words aren’t dramatic. There’s no confession music, no sweeping gestures.

Just him.

Telling the truth.

And for the first time in my life…

I believe it.

*

*

*

I don’t say anything right away.

The sketch is still in my hands, soft at the corners, warm from where he held it.

Shoichi just watches me — not nervous, not expecting.

Just… waiting.

I want to say something. I want to say everything.

But all I can manage is:

“Why?”

He blinks. “Why what?”

“Why me?” I laugh — small, a little hollow. “I’m not interesting. I’m not the one people notice. I’m not—”

“Masumi,” he finishes for me, gently.

I flinch without meaning to.

But Shoichi shakes his head.

“I didn’t fall for Masumi.”

His voice is quiet, but sure.

“I saw you on the first day of class,” he continues. “Sitting alone in the back row. You had your headphones in, but you weren’t listening to anything. You were just pretending to be invisible.”

I stare at him. “You… noticed that?”

“Of course I did,” he says. “You looked like someone who’d been fading for a long time. And I couldn’t stop looking.”

My throat tightens.

I don’t know what to say.

I’ve never had to hold something this fragile in my hands before — something that feels like it could actually stay.

He reaches out, slow and careful, and touches my hand.

Just a brush of fingertips. No pressure. Just permission.

“I like you, Yasuko,” he says again. “I want to be near you. Not because you’re flashy, or loud, or trying to impress anyone.”

His thumb grazes my knuckle.

“But because you’re you.”

The words settle into the space between us.

Warm. Gentle. Uncomplicated.

I nod — just once — and lace my fingers through his.

He doesn’t flinch.

He doesn’t let go.

And for the first time in years, I don’t feel like I’m being compared to anyone.

I just feel seen.

*

*

*

We sat there for a long time.

Not talking.

Not needing to.

My fingers stay wrapped in his. I watch the light shift on the glass ceiling, turning everything a warm amber. Even the silence feels safe.

I didn’t know silence could feel like that.

Shoichi lets out a soft breath beside me.

“I thought maybe I shouldn’t say anything,” he admits. “I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“You didn’t,” I whisper. “I just didn’t think someone like you would ever…”

I trail off, afraid to finish that sentence.

He finishes it for me anyway.

“Fall for someone like you?”

I nod.

Shoichi squeezes my hand, just once. “Then I’m really glad I proved you wrong.”

When the sun begins to dip past the greenhouse frame, I realize how late it’s gotten.

“I should go,” I say, though I don’t move.

“Yeah,” he says, with a quiet smile. “Me too.”

But neither of us lets go right away.

I finally stand, slipping the drawing back into my bag like it’s something fragile. Shoichi walks me halfway to the dorms, his hand brushing mine every so often.

We don’t talk much after that. We don’t need to.

Everything that mattered has already been said.

When I get back to my room, I sit on my bed and pull the sketch out again.

It’s still me — soft, quiet, seen.

But somehow, now that he’s said it out loud, it feels even more real.

Like maybe… I’m allowed to believe it this time.

Like maybe this time, no one’s going to take it away from me.

*

*

*

I place the sketch gently on my desk, smoothing the crease where it had been folded.

It’s just pencil and paper. Nothing expensive. Nothing flashy.

But I’ve never owned anything that felt more precious.

I stare at it for a long time — tracing the lines of my own face, the softness in my expression I still don’t recognize. The warmth he gave me in shadows and strokes.

No one’s ever drawn me like this before.

No one’s ever seen me like this before.

My phone buzzes once.

A message from Shoichi:

“Let me know when you get back safe.”

It’s simple. Ordinary.

But it roots itself deep in my chest.

Someone cares.

Not out of duty. Not because I’m someone’s sister.

Just because I’m me.

I reply:

“I’m home.”

A second later, he types back:

“Good.”

Then:

“Sweet dreams, Yasuko.”

I set my phone down beside the sketch.

Curl into the blankets.

And for the first time in a long time, I fall asleep not wondering who I have to be tomorrow.

Just knowing who I am tonight.