CHAPTER 3 — SMALL MOMENTS, QUIET CHANGES

The next morning felt different, though I wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was the soft sunlight slipping through my window, or the faint hum of cicadas in the distance. Or maybe it was just the memory of yesterday—Akane’s calm presence lingering in the corner of my mind like a quiet echo.

I grabbed my bike, avoiding Aoi and Isumu for the moment, though I knew they were already outside arguing about something trivial.

“You cannot call a pancake a dessert without syrup!” Aoi shouted.

“Then what is it?” Isumu deadpanned.

“Exactly! A pancake is incomplete without syrup!”

I shook my head, muttering under my breath as I mounted my bike. Sometimes, chaos is just… inevitable.

By the time I got to class, the room was buzzing with energy over the festival project. Our group had gathered in the multipurpose room again, tables pushed together and covered with rough sketches, papers, and markers.

Akane was already there, notebook in hand, quietly noting details. She didn’t seem flustered by the noise around her; if anything, she seemed to make a little bubble of calm in the middle of the chaos.

I noticed the way she flipped a page with careful precision, the slight crease in her brow when considering an idea, and the small smile she gave when someone suggested something clever.

She’s meticulous… but not overbearing. Strong, but kind.

I caught myself thinking that almost out loud, then quickly shoved the thought aside.

Our group fell into a rhythm. Reina and Hana handled decorations, Akane focused on the menu, and Aoi insisted on taste-testing pastries for “research purposes.” Isumu and I carried supplies back and forth, muttering sarcastic commentary under our breath.

“You really think she notices all this?” Aoi asked, pointing at Akane’s meticulous notes.

“Noticed? She probably already memorized it all and mentally filed it away,” I said.

“Bro,” Isumu said dryly, “you’re thinking too much.”

“Maybe,” I admitted, glancing at Akane. She was quietly jotting down measurements, then looked up and caught me staring. I quickly looked away.

Later, during a short break, I found myself walking beside her as we carried some lightweight props back to the classroom.

“You’re quiet,” she observed.

“Yeah, that’s me,” I said, shrugging.

She gave a small laugh, not loud, just enough to be noticed. “You seem… thoughtful.”

I wanted to say something clever, but nothing came out. I just nodded.

Thoughtful. Does that mean she notices things about me too?

I shook my head. Don’t overthink. Just… notice her quietly. That was enough for now.

Back in the classroom, Aoi tripped over a bag and sent a stack of paper flying across the floor.

“AGHH! Why is gravity always against me?!”

Isumu sighed and helped pick them up. “It’s not personal, you know.”

Akane helped too, calmly picking up stray sheets. “It’s okay,” she said, glancing at Aoi with a small smile. “We all stumble sometimes.”

She’s graceful… even when fixing someone else’s mess.

I felt a strange warmth in my chest. Not love, not yet. Just… admiration. Awareness. And maybe a tiny spark of curiosity I didn’t want to admit.

By the time the day ended, our group had made real progress on the café layout. Walking home, the streets were quiet, sunlight soft on the pavement.

Akane matched my pace without asking, not forcing conversation, just walking.

“You’re… easy to walk with,” she said softly.

“Uh… thanks,” I said, unsure why I felt slightly flustered.

She glanced at me briefly, then ahead. “I like it when people notice small things. The quiet moments. They matter more than the loud ones.”

I couldn’t reply. The words echoed in my mind like they had meaning I wasn’t ready to understand.

That night, I sat at my desk, flipping through the sketches we’d made for the festival. I traced a line absentmindedly, thinking about the way Akane had moved through the room, the little gestures, her small smiles, her calm voice.

It was strange how noticing someone could feel like a weight and a warmth all at once. Subtle, but somehow significant.

Maybe life wasn’t as predictable as I thought. Maybe that was okay.

And maybe—just maybe—the quiet moments were the ones worth noticing the most.