Chapter 29 – “Haiku Heartbeats”

The morning sun filtered through the classroom windows, casting soft light over the chaos that had become the festival prep room. Streamers hung half-finished, paint trays lined the floor, and a cardboard sign reading “Maid Café: Now Hiring Smiles!” leaned crookedly against the wall.

While Rika and Akari argued over menu prices, Mizuki sat by the window with a brush pen in hand. Sheets of pale paper surrounded her, each carrying a haiku written in her delicate handwriting.

Yuuto stopped behind her. “You’ve been quiet. What are those?”

“Decorations,” Mizuki said, not looking up. “Haikus for the café walls. Amamiya-sensei said we should add something ‘artistic’.”

He leaned closer. “Can I read one?”

Her hand froze mid-stroke. “They’re not finished yet.”

Yuuto tilted his head, already scanning the nearest paper. “ ‘My heart trips softly / Between his laughter and mine / Summer winds linger.’ ”

She snatched the sheet from his hand, cheeks turning red. “T-that one’s not about anyone! It’s… metaphorical! About, um, the season!”

Yuuto smiled, amused. “The season laughs now?”

Mizuki huffed, trying to hide her fluster. “It’s symbolic. You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me.”

For a moment, she hesitated. The truth was, she wanted him to understand. But admitting that meant exposing the quiet feelings she’d been trying to keep tucked inside her poems.

“It’s just… how words can capture moments,” she said softly. “Like how laughter can stay in the air, even after someone’s gone.”

Yuuto blinked, surprised by the sudden tenderness in her tone. “That’s… really nice, Mizuki.”

She smiled faintly, still looking down. “You think so?”

“Yeah. You have a way with words.”

She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, heart beating faster. “T-thank you.”

---

Later, they worked together to hang the finished poems around the classroom. Mizuki held each haiku up while Yuuto taped them to the walls and windows.

When she stretched to reach a high spot, her ribbon slipped loose, and her hair brushed his shoulder. Yuuto instinctively steadied her by the waist.

“Ah—sorry!” he said quickly, pulling back.

“It’s okay,” she murmured, voice barely audible. “You… can hold it if you need to.”

Their eyes met for a fleeting second — the kind of quiet, clumsy moment that feels longer than it should.

Akari’s voice broke the spell. “Hey, lovebirds! Need a ladder or what?”

Mizuki jolted away like she’d been electrocuted. “W-we’re just decorating!”

Akari grinned. “Sure you are.”

Rika appeared with her clipboard, unimpressed. “If you two are done flirting, we still need to test-run the cash register.”

Yuuto groaned. “I wasn’t flirting.”

“Then you’re doing it accidentally,” Rika muttered.

Akari snickered. “That’s worse.”

Mizuki ducked behind her papers, face crimson. “C-can we please focus on the festival?”

---

As the afternoon sun dipped low, the classroom looked transformed. Each haiku fluttered softly in the breeze from the open windows — verses about wind, laughter, summer, and quiet hearts.

Yuuto stopped by one near the door.

“ ‘Beneath warm daylight / A whisper I can’t call mine / Fades into the sea.’ ”

He read it aloud without realizing Mizuki was standing right behind him.

When he turned, she smiled shyly. “That one’s new.”

“It’s beautiful,” he said. “You’ve got a real gift, Mizuki.”

Her eyes flickered with warmth and something deeper. “Maybe… it’s easier to say things in poems than out loud.”

Yuuto tilted his head. “What kind of things?”

She hesitated, then smiled faintly. “Things that make your heart trip softly.”

He didn’t understand fully — not yet. But for the first time, he looked at her differently. Not just as the quiet poet in class, but as someone who made ordinary words feel alive.

As Mizuki gathered her papers, a soft breeze caught one haiku and sent it drifting toward Yuuto’s feet. He picked it up and read silently:

“If I could be wind,

I’d circle him endlessly—

Unseen, but near still.”

He looked up, but Mizuki was already gone, her laughter echoing faintly down the hall.