~ CHAPTER 6 – Rumors and Lemon Trees ~

{ Yasuko Aikawa’s POV }

It starts with a whisper.

Not even a full sentence.

Just my name, floating behind someone’s hand.

Just a laugh that stops when I pass by.

By the third time it happens, I stop pretending I didn’t hear it.

“Do you think he actually likes her?” someone says behind me in the art building stairwell.

“I heard he only started hanging around her because of her sister,” another voice answers.

That one cuts deeper.

I don’t turn around. I just keep walking.

But the words follow me.

Like shadows I thought I’d left behind.

By the time I reach the greenhouse, my throat feels tight.

I push the door open carefully. The familiar scent of soil and lemon leaves wraps around me like always, but today it doesn’t feel comforting.

Shoichi’s already there.

He’s sketching. Bent slightly over his pad, pencil moving fast but light — like he’s afraid of leaving too much behind.

He glances up when I come in.

“Hey,” he says, smiling. “You’re a little late.”

“Yeah,” I murmured. “Sorry.”

He closes his sketchbook instantly. “Something wrong?”

“No,” I lied.

Then hesitate.

“Yes.”

I sat down across from him. The bench creaks.

He watches me — not with worry, exactly, but with attention. The kind that’s starting to feel familiar. The kind that should feel safe.

I wrap my fingers together and try to sound casual.

“Are you only hanging out with me because of Masumi?”

Shoichi blinks. “What?”

The words rush out faster than I meant them to.

“People are saying things. That you’re only here because I’m… easier. Because I’m not her. Because it makes you look good to like the quiet girl. Or— I don’t know— maybe you pitied me or something—”

“Yasuko.”

He says my name like it matters.

Like it’s the only thing he needs to say.

“Look at me,” he says gently.

I do.

He leans forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “I’m here because I like you. Not because of your sister. Not because of rumors. Not because I feel sorry for you.”

My heart’s beating too fast. I try to believe him.

But the voices won’t stop echoing in my head.

He reaches for his sketchbook. Opens to a page he hadn’t shown me before.

It’s another drawing of me — not soft this time, not still. I’m walking, wind in my hair, back turned but unmistakably me. And in the corner, small but clear, is his signature.

Underlined twice.

“I don’t draw people I don’t care about,” he says.

Then closes the book.

“I’m not going anywhere, Yasuko. But if you want me to back off, just say so.”

I look down at my hands.

Then up at him.

And for once, I try not to listen to anyone else’s voice but my own.

“I don’t want you to back off,” I whisper.

Shoichi smiles — small, but relieved.

And suddenly, the greenhouse feels safe again.

*

*

*

We don’t say much after that.

We don’t need to.

The greenhouse hums around us — glass walls lit with late afternoon gold, lemon leaves swaying gently with the breeze from the cracked upper pane. Shoichi watches me like he’s still trying to figure out what I’m thinking, even after I’ve already said it.

But for once… I don’t feel like hiding.

I let myself lean into the silence.

And into him.

“I hate how easy it is for people to talk like they know me,” I say softly, watching dust spin in the light. “Like just because I don’t speak up all the time, they get to fill in the blanks.”

Shoichi doesn’t interrupt.

“And I hate that I still care what they think,” I add. “Even when I try not to.”

“You’re not wrong to care,” he says. “You just deserve better than what they’re giving you.”

He says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

Like it’s never been up for debate.

And maybe, for him, it hasn’t.

He shifts closer, until our shoulders touch.

“Do you want to do something?” he asks.

I glance at him. “Now?”

He nods.

“Like what?”

He grins a little. “Come with me. I have an idea.”

Ten minutes later, we’re in the art building. The halls are mostly empty, the late-day light casting long reflections on the tile floor. Shoichi leads me past the main studios to a tucked-away side room I didn’t even know existed.

Inside: shelves of rolled paper, old easels, and a wide, worn wall covered in taped sketches.

He flicks on a lamp near the corner. “I come here when I need to breathe.”

There’s no one else around.

Just the quiet rustle of paper. The smell of graphite and ink.

And Shoichi.

He tears off a long sheet from one of the rolls. Tapes it across the wall.

Then hands me a pencil.

I blink at him. “You want me to draw?”

“I want you to fill this space however you want,” he says. “No rules. No judgment. No one telling you who you’re supposed to be.”

I stare at the blank paper.

And for the first time in a long time…

…I want to.

*

*

*

At first, I just stood there.

Pencil in hand. Blank wall in front of me. The kind of space that feels too big for someone like me to touch.

“What if I mess it up?” I murmur.

Shoichi smiles from where he’s leaning on the windowsill. “Then we’ll draw over it.”

Simple. No pressure.

Still, my fingers hesitate.

I’m used to being neat. Small. Careful.

But maybe that’s why this scares me.

So I press the pencil to the paper.

And draw the first line.

It starts with a curve — a branch, I think. Then I add leaves, quick strokes like fluttering motion. A teacup appears next. Then a pair of headphones. Things that don’t belong together, but somehow feel like parts of me anyway.

Shoichi joins in without asking.

He sketches a narrow staircase winding through the sky. A pair of sneakers dangling from a wire. A cat curled on a windowsill that wasn’t there a minute ago.

We pass the pencils back and forth in silence, not planning anything.

It becomes a mural of fragments.

Messy. Strange. Real.

Ours.

By the time we step back, my hands are covered in smudges.

But I feel lighter.

Like I left something behind on that wall — something I didn’t know I was carrying.

Shoichi glances at me sideways. “Better than listening to rumors?”

I nod.

“It’s weird,” I say, letting my arms fall to my sides. “Everything still hurts. But I think… I finally don’t feel alone in it.”

He doesn’t respond right away.

Then quietly: “You never were.”

We don’t kiss.

We don’t hold hands.

We just stand there — messy and still a little unsure — looking at what we made together.

And in this quiet moment, I know:

Whatever happens next, I’m not going back to being invisible.

*

*

*

{ Masumi Aikawa’s POV }

I find him in the university courtyard, sitting beneath the camphor trees, tapping something into his phone.

He doesn’t see me at first.

And for a moment, I almost didn't say anything.

He looks… calm. Which is strange, considering how tightly wound he was the day of the meeting.

But then he sighs and rubs the back of his neck — that same tired gesture I remember from before.

So I step forward.

“Sorry I’m late,” I say.

He looks up, startled, then nods. “You’re not. I’m just early.”

We sit on the bench with a careful space between us. The spring breeze carries the smell of cut grass and coffee from the kiosk nearby.

“Day two,” I say.

“Still not married,” he replies.

A pause. Then we both laugh — the sound honest, if brief.

We fall into small talk.

Safe things.

Lecture schedules. Professors we avoid. Campus food we silently agree is terrible.

Then something shifts.

I glance over. “Why law?”

Tetsuya blinks. He doesn’t answer right away.

“My father,” he says at last. “Wanted me to follow him. So I did.”

I study him. “But what did you want?”

He shrugs. “Didn’t seem important at the time.”

That answer settles in my chest a little too familiarly.

“You’re not very good at hiding when you’re unhappy,” I say.

“Is that a bad thing?”

“No. Just unusual.”

He glances sideways. “And what about you, Aikawa? What did you want?”

I hesitate.

Then: “To not disappoint anyone.”

He doesn’t laugh.

He just looks at me like he understands.

Like maybe, just maybe… he’s tired of that too.

We don’t call it a date.

It’s barely even an outing.

But when we part ways that evening, he turns before walking off.

“Are you hungry?" he asks. “We could get noodles or something. Casual.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Are you asking me out, Tetsuya?”

He smirks. “Trial engagement. I figured I should practice.”

I let out a soft laugh. “Sure. But no instant ramen.”

“Deal.”

He walks away.

And I stand there a second longer than I need to, the smile still lingering on my lips.

Maybe this won’t be so simple after all.

But maybe that’s okay.