Chapter 11 — TINY MISUNDERSTANDING

The morning air was colder than usual, the kind of winter chill that made breath visible and cheeks rosy within seconds. Jinsei rode his bike along the quiet streets, the hum of tires against asphalt the only sound until the faint jingling of bells from a nearby café reached him. His mind wasn’t on the cold, though, or even on the upcoming festival preparations—it was on Akane.

He remembered yesterday, the way her gaze lingered just a fraction longer when she handed him her sketchbook. That fleeting moment, the faintest brush of warmth in her eyes, had stayed with him all night.

He arrived at school to find Aoi and Isumu already bickering near the entrance.

“I swear, pancakes are incomplete without syrup!” Aoi shouted.

“Then what are they?” Isumu deadpanned.

“Exactly! A pancake is just bread without syrup!”

Jinsei ignored them, though he caught the faintest hint of something in the air—her perfume, or maybe the memory of her scent lingering from yesterday. It was tiny, almost imperceptible, but it made him notice the quiet streets more, the soft rhythm of life passing by, like he was seeing it for the first time.

Class started as usual, but there was a slight tension buzzing in the room. Jinsei noticed Akane at her usual spot, sketchbook open, focused but calm. She didn’t look up when he approached the group table, and he paused, unsure if he should speak.

“She’s avoiding you,” Aoi whispered, glancing at him.

“Maybe she’s just… busy,” Jinsei murmured, a little defensive.

“Yeah, sure,” Isumu muttered, rolling his eyes.

The group began discussing the café project, and Jinsei found himself stealing glances at Akane. She was sketching quietly, her brow slightly furrowed, lips pressed in concentration. He tried to catch her attention with a subtle smile, but she didn’t look up.

A pang of doubt hit him. Did I do something wrong yesterday? Did I say the wrong thing?

During a short break, Jinsei grabbed some markers and walked toward the supply table, only to see Akane leave suddenly, sketchbook clutched tightly. She didn’t notice him yet, but when she did, her expression froze, a faint shadow crossing her face.

“Akane?” he called softly.

She looked startled, almost embarrassed. “Oh… Jinsei. I—I just… wanted to check something in the art room.”

He nodded slowly. Check something? She looks… upset. He followed, careful not to crowd her, but the warmth that usually accompanied her presence was missing.

In the art room, she set the sketchbook down on a table, still avoiding eye contact. Jinsei hesitated, unsure how to bridge the sudden distance.

“I—did I say something wrong yesterday?” he asked quietly.

Akane blinked, looking at him with a faint blush, but not the warm one he was used to—it was more conflicted, flustered. “No… you didn’t. I… it’s nothing. Really.”

Jinsei frowned slightly, feeling a tiny sting of worry. Nothing? She’s clearly bothered. But why?

They worked in silence, the soft scratching of pencils and markers filling the room. Every so often, Jinsei glanced at her, noticing her subtle fidgeting—the way her fingers drummed lightly on the edge of the table, or the slight tremor when she turned a page.

Finally, he set his pencil down. “I feel like something’s wrong,” he said, not accusatory, just honest.

Akane paused, then let out a quiet sigh. “It’s… silly,” she admitted. “I just… sometimes I overthink things. About the project. About… my family.”

Jinsei’s chest tightened. He had suspected some of her discomfort came from home, but hearing it softly confirmed it. “You don’t have to overthink with me,” he said gently. “You can… just be yourself.”

She looked at him then, eyes wide, as if surprised he could see past the walls she built. The tension between them softened, her shoulders relaxing slightly.

“I guess… I just didn’t want to burden anyone,” she said quietly.

“You’re not a burden,” he said firmly, but softly. “Not to me.”

Her lips quirked into a small, shy smile, the blush returning—but this time warmer, gentler. It wasn’t the full fireworks of feelings yet, but it was a spark.

For the rest of the period, they worked side by side in silence, their proximity quiet but reassuring. Akane would occasionally glance at him, Jinsei noticed, and each time, the smallest connection passed between them—faint, but steady, like the first traces of a lantern glow in fog.

As they left the art room, Jinsei walked beside her. “I’m glad we talked,” he said softly.

She nodded, her sketchbook held carefully against her chest. “Me too,” she admitted. “Sometimes… I just need a little time to sort my thoughts.”

Jinsei smiled gently. “Take all the time you need. I’ll notice, anyway.”

And for a brief moment, walking side by side through the soft winter light, it felt like the misunderstanding had vanished, replaced by quiet understanding, and the slow, steady burn of something much deeper.