The Boy Who Was Not Chosen PART-3

Because asking it would reveal that I had been paying attention.

That I cared.

That her feelings mattered to me.

So I said nothing.

Miyu stopped near the entrance.

"Then get some rest tonight."

"I have work."

"Of course you do."

"I'll rest afterward."

"That's not how rest works."

"It's the only schedule I have."

She sighed.

Then she smiled again.

"See you tomorrow, Nakamura."

"See you."

I watched her walk back toward the school building.

Kaito was waiting near the stairs.

When he saw her, he raised a hand.

Miyu smiled and hurried toward him.

I turned away.

The evening sky was pale orange, fading slowly into blue.

I began walking toward the station.

My phone vibrated with a message from my manager.

Another shift.

Another reminder.

Another ordinary evening.

But the world no longer felt quite as simple as it had before.

For the first time, I wanted something that couldn't be earned through hard work.

Something that couldn't be bought.

Something I couldn't calculate.

And deep down, I was beginning to suspect that wanting it would eventually become the source of my greatest pain.

The next Monday began with rain.

Not heavy rain.

Just a thin, persistent drizzle that covered the school windows with blurred streaks and made the streets shine beneath the morning traffic.

I arrived at school ten minutes before the first bell.

Miyu was already in the classroom.

She stood near the window, looking outside while holding a folded umbrella.

When she noticed me, she raised her hand.

"Nakamura. Good morning."

"Good morning."

"You're early."

"So are you."

"I asked first."

"That doesn't make your question more important."

She smiled.

"You seem to be in a better mood today."

"I'm in the same mood."

"Then perhaps your usual mood is improving."

"I doubt it."

She laughed and returned to her seat.

I placed my bag beside my desk and took out my textbooks.

A few minutes later, Miyu walked over again.

"Do you have an umbrella?"

"Yes."

"Where?"

"In my bag."

She stared at me.

"Your bag is open."

"I know."

"Then where is the umbrella?"

I looked inside.

There was a textbook, two notebooks, my wallet, a convenience-store uniform, a half-empty bottle of water, and several loose receipts.

No umbrella.

I paused.

"I must have left it at home."

Miyu sighed.

"You're unbelievable."

"It's only rain."

"It's raining quite heavily."

"It will stop eventually."

"That's not how umbrellas work."

She held up the umbrella in her hand.

"You can share mine."

I looked at her.

"No."

"Why?"

"I can buy one after school."

"You'll be working after school."

"I can buy one before work."

"You'll get wet before then."

"I'll walk quickly."

Miyu stared at me as though I had just proposed solving the rain by arguing with the clouds.

Then she placed the umbrella on my desk.

"Use this."

I immediately shook my head.

"I can't take yours."

"I have another one at home."

"Then you should use this one."

"I'm not going outside right now."

"You'll need it after school."

"I'll take the train."

"The station is still outside."

She crossed her arms.

"You're very difficult to help."

"I'm not asking you to help me."

"I know."

That familiar answer again.

She said it so naturally that I almost stopped resisting.

Almost.

"I'll return it tomorrow," I said.

"Good."

"And I'll buy a new one."

"You don't have to."

"I'll return it."

"You can return it without buying another one."

"I mean I'll buy my own."

She smiled.

"Fine."

I put the umbrella beside my bag.

Miyu returned to her seat.

The exchange should have ended there.

But I found myself thinking about it throughout the first period.

She had given me something useful without making me feel like I owed her.

That was unusual.

More unusual was the fact that I had accepted it.

During lunch, I noticed Miyu checking her phone several times.

She typed something, waited, then looked at the screen again.

Her expression changed whenever a message arrived.

She was smiling.

I knew who she was messaging.

I didn't need to see the name.

Kaito.

I lowered my eyes to my lunch.

A few minutes later, Miyu approached me.

"Nakamura, can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"Do you think this looks okay?"

She showed me her phone.

On the screen was a photograph of a small gift wrapped in blue paper.

"What is it?"

"A present."

"I can see that."

She frowned.

"You're not very helpful."

"What kind of present?"

"A birthday present."

"For whom?"

She hesitated.

Then she said, "Kaito."

The name landed between us.

I kept my expression still.

"Oh."

"His birthday is this weekend. I wanted to give him something, but I'm not sure if this is too much."

I looked at the photograph.

The wrapping was neat. A small silver ribbon was tied around the top.

"What's inside?"

"A keychain."

"What kind?"

"A basketball-shaped one."

"That sounds appropriate."

"You think so?"

"Yes."

"Does it look strange?"

"No."

"Too childish?"

"No."

"Too obvious?"

I looked at her.

She immediately looked away.

"I mean, I don't want him to think it's weird."

The question she was really asking was obvious.

She wanted to know whether Kaito would understand her feelings.

I knew that.

And I hated that I knew it.

"It's a normal gift," I said.

Miyu's shoulders relaxed.

"Really?"

"Yes."

"Then I'll give it to him."

She smiled.

"Thanks, Nakamura."

"You're welcome."

She turned to leave.

Then she stopped.

"Actually, can I ask one more thing?"

"What?"

"Do you think I should tell him that I like him?"

The classroom seemed to become quieter.

I could hear the rain tapping against the windows.

Somewhere behind me, two students were arguing about a game.

A chair scraped against the floor.

Everything continued as usual.

Only I seemed to have stopped moving.

Miyu watched me, waiting.

I could have said yes.

I could have said no.

I could have told her that confessing might make things complicated.

I could have told her that Kaito probably already knew.

Instead, I asked, "Why are you asking me?"

She blinked.

"Because you're honest."

"That doesn't make me an expert."

"I didn't say you were."

"Then why?"

She thought about it.

"Because you don't seem like someone who would laugh at me."

I looked at her.

That answer hurt more than I expected.

Not because it was cruel.

Because it was kind.

She trusted me with something important.

And I didn't know what to do with that trust.

"You should tell him if you want to," I said.

Miyu's eyes widened slightly.

"That's your advice?"

"Yes."

"What if he says no?"

"He might."

"That's not very encouraging."

"You asked for an honest answer."

She looked down at her phone.

Then she smiled faintly.

"I know."

I glanced at the gift.

"If you don't tell him, you may spend a long time wondering what would have happened."

Miyu was quiet.

Then she nodded.

"That's true."

She looked at me again.

"Have you ever liked someone?"

The question was so direct that I almost forgot to breathe.

"Yes," I said.

Her eyes brightened with curiosity.

"Really?"

"Yes."

"Who?"

I looked toward the window.

"I haven't told her."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't think she feels the same way."

Miyu's expression softened.

"Are you sure?"

"No."

"Then why assume?"

"Because it's safer."

She frowned.

"That sounds lonely."

I didn't answer.

She seemed to realize the similarity between my words and her own situation.

"Maybe you should tell her someday," she said.

"Maybe."

"Otherwise, you might regret it."

I looked at her.

She smiled gently.

The irony was almost unbearable.

She was telling me to confess my feelings while preparing to confess hers to someone else.

And she had no idea.

The bell rang.

Miyu returned to her seat, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

For the rest of the day, I couldn't focus.

I thought about the paper star.

The sandwich.

The umbrella.

The messages.

The way she said my name.

I thought about how easily she smiled at Kaito.

And I wondered whether I had mistaken ordinary kindness for something more.

The answer was probably yes.

It had to be yes.

That was the sensible explanation.

That was the safe explanation.

Still, when school ended, I found myself standing near the entrance with Miyu's umbrella in my hand, waiting for her.

She came out a few minutes later.

"Nakamura? You're still here?"

"I was returning your umbrella."

"You could have taken it home."

"I said I would return it."

She glanced at the umbrella, then at the rain.

"You don't have to be so formal."

"I'm not being formal."

"You are."

She opened the umbrella and stepped beneath it.

Then she looked at me.

"Are you going to the station?"

"Yes."

"Then come on."

I hesitated.

"There's enough space," she said.

I stepped beneath the umbrella beside her.

Our shoulders were close, but not touching.

The rain fell around us, forming a soft curtain that separated the school grounds from the rest of the world.

For a few seconds, neither of us spoke.

Then Miyu said, "I think I'll tell Kaito this weekend."

I kept my eyes ahead.

"That's good."

"I'm nervous."

"That's normal."

"What if things become awkward afterward?"

"They might."

"You really need to learn how to reassure people."

"I'm being realistic."

"I know."

She looked at me from the side.

"Still, I'm glad I asked you."

I didn't respond.

The station entrance came into view.

The umbrella tilted slightly as the wind passed.

Miyu adjusted her grip.

"Thank you for listening."

"You're welcome."

"And for the advice."

"You don't have to thank me."

"I know."

She smiled.

Then she stepped away from beneath the umbrella.

"I'll see you tomorrow."

"See you."

She walked toward the station entrance, turning once to wave.

I raised my hand.

Then she disappeared into the crowd.

I remained beneath the umbrella for a moment longer.

Rainwater ran along the pavement.

Cars passed through the wet street.

People hurried past with their heads lowered.

I looked at the umbrella in my hand.

It had protected me from the rain.

But it couldn't protect me from the truth.

Miyu Shirasaki liked Kaito Moriyama.

And I liked Miyu.

For the first time, I admitted it without trying to change the words.

The realization was quiet.

Almost gentle.

That made it worse.

Because now that I had named the feeling, I could no longer pretend it wasn't there.

Saturday arrived sooner than I expected.

For most people, the weekend meant sleeping late, meeting friends, shopping, or staying home without worrying about the next morning.

For me, Saturday meant more work.

I woke at six, washed my face, prepared a quick breakfast, and checked the schedule on my phone.

Morning shift at the convenience store.

Afternoon delivery work.

Evening shift at a small restaurant.

By the time I returned home, the day would be nearly over.

I placed the phone on the table and looked at the paper star beside it.

The star had begun to lose its shape.

One of its points had folded inward.

I carefully straightened it.

Then I stopped.

Why was I doing that?

It was only paper.

I let out a quiet breath and put it back down.

My phone vibrated.

A message from Miyu.

Good morning! Are you working today?

I stared at the screen.

I typed:

Yes.

A moment later, another message appeared.

All day?

Almost.

That sounds exhausting.

I'm used to it.

That doesn't mean it's good.

I smiled faintly.

She had a habit of saying things that were difficult to argue with.

Then another message arrived.

Are you free for a little while this afternoon?

I looked at my schedule.

There was a gap of forty minutes between my shifts.

For how long?

Maybe thirty minutes?

Where?

The shopping street near the station.

I hesitated.

There was no reason to meet her.

She probably wanted advice about Kaito.

Or perhaps she needed help choosing a gift.

Either way, I should have declined.

But my fingers moved before I finished thinking.

Okay.

Her reply came immediately.

Really? Great! See you at two.

I placed the phone face down.

Then I picked it up again.

Don't be late, she added.

I typed:

I'm rarely late.

You're late when it comes to eating breakfast.

That's unrelated.

It's completely related.

I didn't reply.

But I smiled again.

The first shift passed slowly.

The convenience store was crowded with customers buying snacks, drinks, and lunch. I worked the register, restocked shelves, cleaned the entrance, and helped an elderly customer find a particular brand of tea.

At one point, my manager glanced at me.

"You seem cheerful today."

"I'm normal."

"You've smiled twice."

"That's not unusual."

"It is for you."

I returned to arranging bottled drinks.

"Maybe you're imagining things."

My manager laughed.

I checked the clock.

One thirty-five.

I finished my tasks, changed out of my uniform, and hurried toward the station.

The shopping street was busy with weekend crowds. Families moved between shops, couples walked beneath shared umbrellas, and students gathered around food stalls.

I arrived at two exactly.

Miyu was standing near a bookstore.

She wore a pale blue cardigan over a simple dress and held a small shopping bag in one hand.

When she saw me, she waved.

"You came!"

"You asked me to."

"I wasn't sure you would."

"Why?"

"Because you always have work."

"I made time."

The words came out naturally.

Miyu looked at me for a moment.

Then she smiled.

"Thank you."

I looked away.

"So, what do you need?"

"Straight to the point, huh?"

"I only have thirty minutes."

"Right. Sorry."

She raised the shopping bag.

"I bought the gift."

"For Kaito?"

She nodded.

The bag contained a small blue box.

"I wanted to show you before I give it to him."

I looked at the box.

"It looks fine."

"You haven't seen it."

"It's inside a box."

She frowned.

"You're not taking this seriously."

"I am."

"Then open it."

She handed me the box.

I hesitated before lifting the lid.

Inside was a small basketball-shaped keychain made of dark metal. It was simple, but well-designed, with a tiny silver detail on the side.

"It's good," I said.

"Really?"

"Yes."

"Does it look like something a boy would like?"

"I think so."

"Does it look too expensive?"

"No."

"Does it look like a confession gift?"

I closed the box.

"That depends on what you write in the message."

Miyu's cheeks turned slightly pink.

"I haven't written anything yet."

"You could just give it to him."

"Just like that?"

"Yes."

"That would be awkward."

"Then write a short message."

"What should I say?"

I looked at her.

"You're asking the wrong person."

"Why?"

"I've never given someone a confession gift."

"Neither have I."

"You seem more experienced."

She stared at me.

Then she laughed.

"I don't think that's how it works."

A breeze moved through the street, carrying the smell of grilled food from a nearby stall.

Miyu looked down at the box.

"I really like him," she said quietly.

I didn't answer.

"I've liked him since last year. He's kind, and he's good at everything, and he always seems confident. When I'm around him, I feel like I want to become a better person."

Her voice was soft.

Honest.

I listened without interrupting.

"He probably doesn't see me that way," she continued. "But I still want to tell him."

"That's reasonable."

"Reasonable?"

"Yes."

She looked at me.

"You make everything sound like a school report."

"I'm trying to be supportive."

"You could say something more emotional."

"I hope it goes well."

"That's better."

She smiled.

I forced myself to return the smile.

The truth was, I didn't want it to go well.

I wanted her to change her mind.

I wanted her to look at me the way she looked at Kaito.

I wanted to tell her that I was the one who waited for her messages, the one who remembered every small thing she said, the one who kept a crooked paper star beside his bed.

But none of those wishes belonged in this conversation.

They were mine.

And she had never promised me anything.

Miyu slipped the box back into the shopping bag.

"Thank you for listening, Nakamura."

"You've said that before."

"Then I'll say it again."

"You don't need to."

"I know."

She looked toward the clock above the street entrance.

"How much time do you have left?"

"About fifteen minutes."

"Then let's get something to eat."

"I can't."

"Why?"

"I need to go to my next job."

"Of course."

"I'll eat later."

She sighed.

"Do you ever do anything without rushing?"

"Not often."

"Then at least let me buy you something."

"No."

"Nakamura."

"I have money."

"That's not what I meant."

"I know."

She narrowed her eyes.

"You're using my own words against me."

"It seemed effective."

She laughed.

Then she pointed toward a nearby bakery.

"Five minutes. Choose something."

"I don't need—"

"Five minutes."

I looked at the bakery.

Then at her.

"Fine."

Inside, the smell of fresh bread filled the small shop.

Miyu immediately began examining the shelves while I stood near the entrance.

She picked up a pastry.

"What about this?"

"Too expensive."

"It's a pastry."

"It's still expensive."

She picked up another.

"This one?"

"Also expensive."

"You're judging food by price."

"That's generally how purchasing works."

She sighed and selected a simple bread roll.

"This one is cheap."

"I can buy that myself."

"I'm buying it."

"You don't have to."

"I know."

She paid before I could argue.

Outside, she handed me the paper bag.

I looked inside.

There were two bread rolls.

"Why two?"

"One for now. One for later."

"I only agreed to one."

"You agreed to five minutes. I'm making good use of them."

I looked at her.

She smiled.

I took one of the rolls.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

We stood beside the bakery while the crowd moved around us.

For a brief moment, the afternoon felt strangely peaceful.

No classroom.

No work uniform.

No empty apartment.

Just the sound of people walking and Miyu eating bread beside me.

Then she checked her phone.

Her expression changed.

A message had arrived.

I didn't need to ask who it was from.

"Kaito?" I asked.

She looked up, surprised.

"Yes."

"What did he say?"

"He asked if I wanted to meet tomorrow."

I held the bread roll in my hand.

"That's good."

"He said he wanted to talk to me."

"That's good."

She looked at me carefully.

"You keep saying that."

"Because it is."

"Are you sure?"

I met her eyes.

For one terrible second, I considered telling her everything.

That I liked her.

That I had liked her for weeks.

That every ordinary moment with her had become important.

That I didn't want her to give the gift to Kaito.

That I wanted her to choose me.

But the words stayed trapped behind my teeth.

"Yes," I said.

"I'm sure."

Miyu smiled, relieved.

"Then I'll tell him tomorrow."

I nodded.

The clock on the station tower showed two twenty-eight.

I folded the paper bag closed.

"I have to go."

"Right."

She looked disappointed again.

But this time, she tried to hide it.

"Good luck at work."

"Thank you."

"And eat the seco

nd bread roll later."

"I will."

"And don't work too hard."

"I'll try."

She smiled.

"See you Monday, Nakamura."

"See you."

I walked away from her and toward the station.

I didn't turn around.

If I did, I knew I would see her standing there.

And if I saw her standing there, I might start wishing for something I had no right to expect.

The afternoon shift began at three.

I worked normally.

I answered customers, carried boxes, cleaned tables, and followed instructions.

But my mind remained somewhere else.

Tomorrow, Miyu would confess to Kaito.

Tomorrow, she might receive the answer she wanted.

Tomorrow, the distance between us might become permanent.

That night, I returned home and placed the untouched second bread roll on the table.

The paper star sat beside it.

I stared at both for a long time.

Then I whispered into the empty room:

"Tomorrow…"

The word felt heavier than it should have.

I didn't know what would happen.

I didn't know whether Kaito would accept her feelings.

I didn't know whether Miyu would ever look at me differently.

But for the first time in my life, I was afraid of tomorrow arriving.

And that fear told me something I had been trying not to understand.

I had already fallen in love with her.

Sunday passed more slowly than usual.

I worked my morning shift, delivered packages in the afternoon, and returned home before sunset.

Nothing went wrong.

No customer complained.

No manager called me back.

I even finished my homework early.

By every reasonable measurement, it was a good day.

And yet, I kept checking my phone.

There were no new messages from Miyu.

I told myself that was normal.

She was probably busy.

She might have been preparing for her conversation with Kaito.

Perhaps she was nervous.

Perhaps she was choosing the right words.

Perhaps—

I placed my phone face down on the table.

There was no reason to imagine any of it.

She was allowed to have a life that didn't include me.

That was obvious.

Still, the silence felt unusually loud.

At around seven in the evening, my phone vibrated.

I picked it up immediately.

It was Miyu.

Can I talk to you tomorrow?

I stared at the message.

My fingers hovered above the keyboard.

Of course. Did something happen?

Her reply took longer this time.

I just want to tell you something.

I typed:

Okay.

Then I waited.

Another message appeared.

Thank you.

That was all.

I put the phone down.

The room was quiet except for the hum of the refrigerator.

I looked at the paper star on my desk.

One of its corners had folded again.

I straightened it carefully.

Then I realized what I was doing and pulled my hand away.

I should have thrown it away.

Instead, I placed it beside my phone.

The next morning, I arrived at school earlier than usual.

The classroom was still mostly empty.

Miyu's seat near the window was vacant.

I sat down and took out my textbooks.

I tried to read.

I read the same paragraph three times.

At eight ten, Miyu entered the classroom.

She looked tired.

Not physically exhausted like me after work, but emotionally distracted, as though her thoughts were somewhere far away.

When she noticed me, she stopped.

"Nakamura."

"Good morning."

"Good morning."

She walked toward my desk.

For a moment, she said nothing.

Then she sat in the empty chair beside me.

I closed my textbook.

"Did something happen yesterday?"

She looked down at her hands.

"I talked to Kaito."

I already knew what that meant.

Still, I asked, "And?"

Miyu took a slow breath.

"I told him that I liked him."

The classroom seemed to grow distant.

I kept my expression neutral.

"How did he respond?"

"He was surprised."

"That's understandable."

"He said he was happy that I told him."

I waited.

Miyu's fingers tightened around the edge of her sleeve.

"Then he apologized."

I looked at her.

"He said he already likes someone else."

I didn't know what to say.

The words should have made me feel relieved.

They should have created an opening.

A chance.

A possibility.

But Miyu looked so hurt that relief felt cruel.

"Are you okay?" I asked.

She smiled faintly.

"I think so."

"That doesn't sound convincing."

"I'm not sure yet."

She looked toward the window.

"They were kind about it. He didn't laugh or make me feel embarrassed. He just said he was sorry."

"That's better than the alternative."

"I know."

She paused.

"I thought I would cry when he rejected me."

"Did you?"

"Not then."

"When?"

"After I got home."

Her voice became quieter.

"I kept thinking about all the little things I imagined happening. Going somewhere together. Talking after school. Maybe exchanging messages every day."

She gave a small, embarrassed laugh.

"I know it sounds silly."

"It doesn't."

"You don't have to say that."

"I'm not saying it because I have to."

She looked at me.

For a moment, her eyes seemed to shine.

Then she quickly looked away.

"I feel stupid," she whispered.

"You're not stupid."

"I knew there was a chance he would say no."

"Knowing something might happen doesn't make it painless when it does."

Miyu was silent.

I realized I had spoken more than usual.

She looked at me again.

"That was surprisingly thoughtful."

"I can be thoughtful."

"Sometimes."

"Occasionally."

She laughed softly.

The sound was weaker than usual, but it was still her laugh.

I felt something loosen in my chest.

Not happiness exactly.

Something closer to relief that she was still able to smile.

"Did you give him the gift?" I asked.

She nodded.

"He accepted it."

"Then it wasn't wasted."

She looked down.

"I told him he could return it if he felt uncomfortable."

"What did he say?"

"He said he would keep it."

"Then you should let him."

Miyu nodded slowly.

Outside the classroom, footsteps approached.

Several students entered, talking about the weekend.

Miyu stood up from the chair beside me.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"Why didn't you tell the girl you liked?"

The question caught me off guard.

I looked at her.

She continued before I could answer.

"You said you liked someone, remember?"

"Yes."

"Why didn't you confess?"

I stared at the textbook on my desk.

"Because I didn't think she liked me."

"That didn't stop me."

"You're braver than I am."

She shook her head.

"I was terrified."

"Then why did you do it?"

"Because I thought I would regret staying silent."

I said nothing.

Miyu studied my face.

"Do you still like her?"

"Yes."

"Then maybe you should tell her."

I looked at her.

She was serious.

There was no teasing in her expression.

No hidden joke.

Just genuine encouragement.

"You think I should?"

"Yes."

"What if she says no?"

"Then it will hurt."

"That's not very comforting."

"I'm trying to be honest."

I almost smiled.

She continued, "But at least you'll know. You won't have to keep wondering."

I looked toward the window.

The morning sunlight fell across the desks, turning the dust in the air golden.

For a brief moment, I imagined telling her.

Miyu, I like you.

The words seemed simple in my mind.

But saying them aloud felt impossible.

Not yet.

I wasn't ready.

"I'll think about it," I said.

Miyu smiled.

"That's a start."

The first bell rang.

She returned to her seat.

I opened my textbook again.

This time, I could read the words.

But I couldn't stop thinking about what she had said.

At least you'll know.

Maybe she was right.

Maybe silence was not protection.

Maybe it was only another way of losing something before ever having it.

During lunch, Miyu sat with her friends as usual.

She was quieter than before, but she participated in the conversation and even laughed once or twice.

I ate at my desk.

After a while, she looked toward me.

I raised my hand slightly.

She smiled and waved back.

It was a small gesture.

A familiar one.

But now I understood something.

Her kindness toward me had never been a promise.

It had never meant she was secretly waiting for me.

It had never meant I was special to her in the way I wanted to be.

She had simply been kind.

And I had been lonely enough to turn that kindness into hope.

The realization hurt.

But it also felt honest.

After school, I found Miyu near the entrance.

She was holding several festival decorations.

"Nakamura."

"Do you need help?"

She looked surprised.

Then she smiled.

"Actually, yes."

I took half the decorations from her.

We walked toward the storage room together.

Neither of us spoke for a while.

Then Miyu said, "I'm glad I told him."

"Even though he rejected you?"

"Even then."

"Why?"

She thought about it.

"Because I was honest with myself."

I nodded.

"That's important."

She glanced at me.

"You should remember that."

I looked ahead.

"I will."

We placed the decorations inside the storage room.

When we finished, Miyu dusted her hands and smiled.

"See you tomorrow, Nakamura."

"See you."

She walked away.

I watched her for a few seconds before turning toward the station.

The afternoon sky was clear.

The air was cool.

My phone vibrated with a work notification.

I checked it, replied, and continued walking.

But beneath the ordinary sounds of the city, one thought remained.

I liked Miyu.

She didn't feel the same way.

And someday, I would have to decide whether to tell her.

Not because I expected her to choose me.

Not because I believed kindness entitled me to love.

But because, for once, I wanted to be honest about something that mattered.

I just didn't know that I would wait too long.

For the next several days, I carried a sentence around with me.

It was only five words.

Miyu, I like you.

I repeated them silently while walking to school.

I imagined saying them during lunch.

I imagined saying them after committee meetings.

Once, I even imagined saying them while standing beneath the station lights after sunset.

Each time, the sentence sounded simple.

Each time, I found a reason not to say it.

The first reason was obvious.

Miyu had already confessed to someone else.

Even though Kaito had rejected her, that didn't mean her feelings had disappeared overnight.

People didn't work that way.

The second reason was more practical.

I had no idea what would happen afterward.

If she rejected me, would she stop talking to me?

Would our conversations become awkward?

Would she regret being kind to me?

Would I lose the one person who had recently made school feel less empty?

The third reason was the one I never admitted aloud.

I was afraid that if I confessed, I would have to face the truth.

Not just the truth about Miyu.

The truth about myself.

I wanted to be chosen.

I wanted someone to look at me and decide that I mattered.

But wanting something didn't mean I deserved it.

And I had spent too many years learning not to expect things I couldn't guarantee.

"Are you thinking about something unpleasant?"

Miyu's voice pulled me back to the classroom.

I looked up from my notebook.

She stood beside my desk, holding two cans of juice.

"No."

"You were frowning."

"I was concentrating."

"On what?"

"Mathematics."

She looked at the open page.

"You've been staring at the same question for ten minutes."

"It's a difficult question."

"Or an unpleasant one?"

"You're very persistent."

"And you're very evasive."

She placed one of the cans on my desk.

I looked at it.

"What's this?"

"Juice."

"I can identify juice."

"Then we're making progress."

"Why did you buy it?"

"There was a discount."

"How much?"

She sighed.

"You don't have to calculate every kindness."

"I'm only asking."

"You can pay me back by helping with the festival decorations."

"That's not a fair exchange."

"It's not an exchange."

I looked at her.

She smiled.

"Just drink it."

I opened the can.

It was apple juice.

I took a small sip.

Miyu watched me with an expression of satisfaction.

"You know," she said, "you've become slightly easier to talk to."

"Slightly?"

"Very slightly."

"That's disappointing."

"You're also better at making jokes."

"I'm not joking."

"That's what makes them funny."

I continued drinking the juice.

Miyu pulled a chair toward my desk and sat down.

"Have you decided what you're doing during the festival?"

"Working."

She stared at me.

"I mean at the festival."

"I'll be helping with decorations."

"And after that?"

"Working."

"You're impossible."

"I've been told."

"Will you at least stay for a while?"

"I don't know."

"You're one of the people who helped make the decorations. You should see them displayed."

"I can see photographs."

"That's not the same."

"Photographs are more convenient."

Miyu leaned forward.

"Please?"

I looked at her.

She wasn't teasing.

That made the request more difficult to refuse.

"I'll try."

Her face brightened.

"Really?"

"If my shift allows it."

"That counts."

"It shouldn't."

"But it does."

She stood up and returned to her desk.

I watched her walk away.

The sentence returned to my mind.

Miyu, I like you.

I could have said it then.

She was standing only a few steps away.

The classroom was still mostly empty.

The morning light fell across the floor.

It would have been an ordinary moment.

Perhaps that was why I couldn't do it.

Confessions in stories always happened beneath beautiful skies, during festivals, under falling petals, or at places where the world seemed to pause.

Real life didn't offer such convenient timing.

Real life offered unfinished homework, work schedules, noisy classrooms, and people who might be too busy to hear what you wanted to say.

At lunch, I saw Miyu speaking with Kaito near the windows.

He had brought a stack of festival posters.

Miyu looked through them while he explained something.

She nodded several times.

Then Kaito said something that made her laugh.

I looked away.

I didn't want to watch.

But a moment later, I heard Miyu say, "Thank you for helping."

"No problem," Kaito replied. "You've been doing most of the work anyway."

"That's not true."

"It is."

"You're exaggerating."

"Maybe a little."

Their conversation was ordinary.

There was no romance in it.

No secret confession.

No special gesture.

Still, I felt a familiar tightness in my chest.

I hated that feeling.

Not because it was painful.

Because it was childish.

Miyu could talk to whoever she wanted.

She could laugh with Kaito.

She could like him even after being rejected.

She could change her mind tomorrow.

None of that had anything to do with me.

I lowered my head and continued eating.

A few minutes later, Miyu came over.

"You're quiet again."

"I'm eating."

"You can do both."

"I'm focusing on my food."

She looked toward Kaito, then back at me.

"Are you upset?"

"No."

"Did I do something?"

"No."

"Then why do you look like that?"

"Like what?"

"Like someone cancelled your favorite television show."

"I don't watch television."

"That's not the point."

I placed my chopsticks down.

"Miyu, you don't have to worry about me."

She blinked.

"I'm not worried."

"You keep asking."

"Because you keep acting strange."

"I'm always strange."

"That's not an answer."

"It's the only one I have."

She was quiet for a moment.

Then she sat across from me.

"Did something happen at work?"

"No."

"Are you having money problems?"

"I'm always having money problems."

She frowned.

"That isn't funny."

"I wasn't joking."

"I know."

Her expression became serious.

"You can tell me if something is wrong."

I looked at her.

The words were so familiar.

So simple.

And yet they made the sentence in my mind feel heavier.

Miyu, I like you.

I could tell her.

I could finally stop hiding behind silence.

But what would I gain?

Possibly nothing.

Possibly embarrassment.

Possibly the end of this strange, fragile friendship.

I looked down.

"Nothing is wrong," I said.

Miyu studied me for a long moment.

Then she nodded.

"Okay."

She didn't look convinced.

But she didn't force me to explain.

That was one of the things I liked about her.

She could be persistent.

She could be annoying.

She could ask too many questions.

But when I truly refused to answer, she knew when to stop.

After school, the decoration committee met in the classroom.

The festival was only two days away, and the room was filled with paper, paint, cardboard, ribbons, and half-finished signs.

I stood on a chair, attaching paper stars to a long string.

Miyu stood below me, holding the other end.

"A little to the left," she said.

I moved the string.

"Your left or mine?"

"My left."

"That's inconvenient."

"Your other left."

"I only have two."

"Then use the correct one."

I shifted the string again.

"Like this?"

"Perfect."

"You could have said that earlier."

"I wanted to make sure you earned the compliment."

"You're very demanding."

"And you're very reliable."

The words made me pause.

Miyu looked up at me.

"What?"

"Nothing."

She smiled.

"Be careful."

"I'm standing on a chair, not a cliff."

"Still."

I finished attaching the final star and climbed down.

Miyu looked at the decorations.

The paper stars hung in a loose line across the classroom, catching the late afternoon sunlight.

"They look nice," she said.

"They're uneven."

"That makes them look handmade."

"That sounds familiar."

"Maybe you're finally learning."

I looked at her.

She looked back.

For a moment, the room seemed quieter than before.

The other students were busy near the opposite wall.

Kaito was outside carrying boxes.

Miyu's eyes met mine.

The sentence rose again.

Miyu, I like you.

My mouth opened slightly.

"Miyu—"

She turned toward the door.

"Oh, Kaito. Did you bring the tape?"

The moment disappeared.

Kaito entered carrying a box.

"Yeah. I also brought the extra lights."

"Great. Can you put them over there?"

"Sure."

Miyu moved toward him.

I closed my mouth.

The sentence vanished back into silence.

I looked at the paper stars above us.

One of them was crooked.

I reached up and adjusted it.

But this time, I didn't try to make it perfect.

When the meeting ended, Miyu approached me near the door.

"You were going to say something earlier."

I looked at her.

"Was I?"

"Yes."

"What did it seem like?"

She thought for a moment.

"Something important."

I shook my head.

"It wasn't."

Miyu narrowed her eyes.

"You're lying again."

"Maybe."

She smiled faintly.

"Then tell me when you're ready."

I stared at her.

She said it casually, without pressure.

As though she believed I would eventually speak.

As though she could wait.

I nodded.

"Okay."

She walked away.

I remained near the classroom door, watching the last of the sunlight fade across the windows.

Tomorrow was the school festival.

The day after that, everything would return to normal.

At least, that was what I believed.

I told myself I would confess after the festival.

I told myself I would find the right moment.

I told myself there was still time.

And because I wanted to believe it, I ignored the uneasy feeling that had begun to settle inside me.

The feeling that something was approaching.

Something none of us would be able to stop.

The school festival began under a clear autumn sky.

By eight in the morning, the school grounds were already louder than usual. Students moved between buildings carrying boxes, decorations, trays of food, and handmade signs. Music played from a speaker near the entrance, though the sound occasionally cracked whenever someone turned the volume too high.

The entire school seemed to have forgotten how to walk normally.

Everyone was either running, shouting, laughing, or searching for something they had misplaced.

I stood outside our classroom with a roll of tape in one hand and a cardboard box in the other.

"Akira! You're finally here!"

Miyu waved at me from inside the classroom.

She was wearing the festival committee's matching apron over her uniform. A small paper star was pinned near her shoulder, slightly crooked.

I recognized it immediately.

"You're late," she said.

"It's eight-oh-seven."

"That's late when everyone else has been working since seven."

"I was told to arrive at eight."

"Then the schedule was wrong."

"That sounds like a committee problem."

Miyu narrowed her eyes at me.

"You've become more argumentative lately."

"I've always been like this."

"No. Before, you just looked tired."

"That's worse."

She laughed.

The sound was bright enough to rise above the noise in the hallway.

For a moment, I simply watched her.

There had been a time when I thought happiness was something complicated. Something that required money, security, or a future that could be planned carefully.

But Miyu could laugh because someone had drawn a cat badly on a poster.

She could smile because the classroom decorations were finished.

Next description in Last Part.