Chapter 12:

~ CHAPTER 12 – What We Pretend ~

Her Shadow, My Light

{ Masumi Aikawa’s Point of View }

He’s already there when I arrive.

Leaning against the railing outside the library steps, two cups of coffee in hand — and for once, not buried in his phone.

He straightens when he sees me and lifts one of the cups like an offering.

“Didn’t think you’d actually show,” he says, almost sheepish.

I raise an eyebrow. “You texted me. Of course I showed.”

He grins and hands me the cup. “Yeah, but you usually reply with more sarcasm.”

“I’m pacing myself.”

He laughs — and somehow, it doesn’t feel forced.

We don’t go far.

Just to a quiet bench near the literature building, shaded by a row of gingko trees just starting to yellow.

He sips his coffee, glancing sideways.

“You seem… lighter,” he says.

“Is that a polite way of saying I used to be difficult?”

Tetsuya shrugs. “You were intense. But not in a bad way.”

I hum. “You’re not so twitchy today.”

He nods, looking down at the cup in his hands. “Guess I’m getting used to you.”

We sit for a moment in the stillness.

There’s no pressure.

No performance.

Just two people pretending not to notice how easy this is starting to feel.

I glance at him. “Why did you really agree to the trial?”

He doesn't answer right away.

“I thought it would make them stop bothering me,” he says finally. “I didn’t expect you to be…”

He trails off.

“What?”

“Human.”

I snort. “Wow. High praise.”

But I’m smiling.

So is he.

This is how it begins, I think. Not with fireworks. Not with grand confessions.

Just with honesty.

And the kind of silence that feels like permission to breathe.

We walk without talking for a while, winding through the quiet paths between buildings. It’s early enough that the sun’s still soft, and the breeze carries that crisp almost-autumn edge.

I steal a glance at him as we walk.

He’s not exactly handsome in the traditional sense — hair always a little messy, posture too relaxed, expression unreadable half the time.

But today… I don’t know.

He looks better than I remembered.

Or maybe I’m just looking differently.

“I was wrong about you,” he says suddenly.

I raise an eyebrow. “Wow. Should I be flattered or insulted?”

“Flattered,” he replies. “I think.”

“You think?”

He stops walking.

I stop too.

And there it is — that pause. That flicker of something neither of us wants to name.

He looks at me.

Direct. Serious.

“You’re not who I expected. You’re actually kind. Thoughtful. You notice things other people don’t.”

I blink, caught off guard. “Tetsuya…”

“I’m just saying,” he adds quickly, eyes darting away. “It’s confusing.”

“Confusing?”

“Yeah.” He rakes a hand through his hair. “Because I’m not supposed to like any of this.”

My stomach does that annoying flutter thing.

I cross my arms — out of instinct more than attitude.

“So… Do you?”

His gaze finds mine again.

Slow. Searching.

“I don’t know,” he admits. “But I don’t hate it. And that scares me more than if I did.”

We stood there for a second too long.

The distance between us feels smaller now. Like one step could change everything.

My heart’s too loud in my chest.

I should break the tension. Say something sarcastic. Roll my eyes and walk away.

Instead, I say:

“Then maybe we should stop pretending it’s just a trial.”

His eyes widened a little — not from shock.

But from recognition.

Like he’s been thinking the same thing.

He doesn’t kiss me.

I don’t kiss him.

But when we keep walking, our shoulders brush a little more than before.

And neither of us moves away.

It wasn’t supposed to be anything.

Just dinner.

Just two people who were told to pretend.

But I still stand in front of my closet for way too long, staring at hangers like I’m picking armor.

I settled on something simple — soft sweater, dark jeans, light touch of lip gloss.

Not because I care.

Not because it’s a date.

Just… in case it feels like one.

He’s already waiting at the restaurant.

It’s not fancy — a small family-owned place tucked near campus with steamed windows and soft lighting. Warm, familiar.

He stands when he sees me.

Actually stands.

Like it’s a real date.

Like I’m someone he wants to impress.

And suddenly, my hands feel stupid.

“You clean up nice,” he says as I sit across from him.

“You’re surprised?”

He grins. “A little.”

I pretend to roll my eyes, but I’m smiling too.

Dinner is… easy.

Too easy.

We talk about childhood nicknames. Favorite ramen toppings. Worst professors. I tell him about the time I accidentally destroyed one of our mother’s prized tea sets and blamed it on a neighbor’s cat.

He laughs so hard he nearly spills his drink.

And for once, I don’t feel like I’m performing.

I just feel seen.

Afterward, we walk again — this time in a comfortable quiet.

Until he speaks.

“I don’t think this is pretending anymore,” he says, not looking at me.

I stop walking.

So does he.

He finally meets my eyes.

“I don’t think I want it to be.”

Something turns over in my chest — not sharp. Not overwhelming.

Just… real.

And terrifying.

Because I’ve spent so long being the one who pushes others away first.

The one who ends things before they get messy.

The one who never lets herself want.

But with Tetsuya… maybe I want to try.

I don’t say anything.

I just reach for his hand.

He lets me.

No pressure. No declarations.

Just fingers lacing together like they’ve always belonged that way.

And for now, that’s enough.

{ Yasuko Aikawa’s Point of View }

It’s late when Masumi comes home.

I hear the front door close, soft and careful. Her shoes click against the hallway floor before she slips them off. Then silence, except for the faint creak of her bedroom door opening.

She thinks I’m asleep.

I’m not.

I lie still, eyes open in the dark.

Waiting.

Listening.

In the morning, she’s already in the kitchen.

Pouring tea.

She doesn’t notice me at first — humming under her breath, her hair still a little tangled, sleeves pushed up as she leans on the counter.

And then she smiles.

It’s small.

But real.

I pause in the doorway.