Hiroto woke up earlier than usual, blinking at the ceiling fan above his bed as it made its slow, rhythmic turns. No groggy haze, no guilt from a 3 a.m. YouTube spiral—just sunlight and the rare satisfaction of getting enough sleep. He sat up, scratched the back of his head, and muttered, "Huh. That's weird."
After a quick shower and a lazy breakfast, he decided to head out. His neighborhood still held a kind of early summer haze, cicadas already buzzing like they had rent to pay. With no particular plan in mind, Hiroto walked to the arcade.
It was a little grimy, smelled faintly of soda syrup and dust, and he loved it.
He spent nearly two hours playing Tekken 3, hopping from one opponent to the next. A couple of middle schoolers tried to flex, but Hiroto swept the floor with them. One guy actually brought a crowd for a hot second before rage-quitting mid-round. Hiroto leaned back in his plastic stool and sighed.
"Too bad they don't allow betting," he muttered, cracking his knuckles. "I could've paid for lunch and dinner."
Eventually, his stomach reminded him that Tekken wins weren't edible, so he grabbed some curry bread and juice from the convenience store next door. Afternoon sun hung heavy over the city streets. He considered going home but… didn't. Instead, he wandered.
He ran into Susan by accident—a lanky guy in oversized jeans and a bucket hat, slurping a popsicle with no urgency whatsoever.
"Oh, hey," Hiroto said.
Susan blinked like he had just returned from another planet. "You're awake in the daytime?"
"Funny."
They chatted. Not deep, not dramatic. Just school gossip, old memes, which teacher might be getting married. It was easy. Hiroto wasn't the quiet type anyway, just normal in the middle, but talking with Susan was especially chill. Familiar, like background music you didn't notice until it was gone.
By late afternoon, they split ways.
Hiroto wandered into the park, flopped down on a bench under some half-shaded tree, and stared at the sky. He pulled out his phone. No notifications. He scrolled aimlessly. Still bored.
He leaned back and sighed out loud to nobody, "Man, what a flatline of a day."
...
..
.
Hiroto arrived home just as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the quiet street. The scent of grilled fish and miso soup wafted from the open kitchen window, a comforting reminder that his father was already preparing dinner.
"Yo," Hiroto called out as he stepped inside, kicking off his sneakers.
His father glanced up from the stove, a spatula in hand. "You're back early."
"Yeah, arcade got boring," Hiroto replied, dropping his bag by the door. "Any news on the laptop?"
"I took it to the shop this morning," his father said, turning back to the sizzling pan. "They said it might take a few days."
Hiroto sighed, the absence of his laptop—a.k.a. his primary source of entertainment—felt like a personal affront. He was about to flop onto the couch and channel surf when his father added, "Oh, and another letter came for you. From that same person."
Hiroto froze mid-step. "Another one?"
His father nodded, a hint of irritation in his voice. "Yeah. From that Yukwama or whatever. I don't know how someone can mess up an address twice. Now it's just annoying."
Unbeknownst to his father, Hiroto had replied to the previous letter. He quickly retrieved the envelope from the table and headed upstairs to his room, heart pounding with a mix of anticipation and guilt.
Once inside, he closed the door and sat at his desk, carefully opening the envelope. The handwriting was the same—neat, with a slight slant. He unfolded the letter and began to read:
__
Dear Hiroto
I… um, wow. I can't believe you actually read that. I'm kind of mortified, but also… thank you for not just tossing it. You're right—it wasn't meant for you. I meant to send it to someone named Aka. But I'm glad you wrote back.
About the address… that's strange. I double-checked it before sending. Are you new to the area? Since you already read it. You can guess that I'm trying to reconcile with my friend. Anyway please don't mind me, I guess
Yumi
__
Hiroto stared at the letter for a solid minute, the last sentence echoing in his mind:
"Anyway please don't mind me, I guess."
That "I guess" gnawed at him. Was she brushing him off? Regretting the letter? Being polite?
He flopped onto his bed, still holding the letter like it might give him more answers if he stared long enough. It didn't. So, naturally, he did the next thing any 21st century introvert does:
He opened his group chat:
[Introverts Assemble]
Hiroto:
hey question
what does it mean when someone ends a sentence with "i guess"
like "anyway please don't mind me, i guess"
Chindori:
Classic deflection. They care, but they don't wanna seem like they care.
KawaSimp99:
That's a soft cry for attention bro. She's hoping you do mind her.
Sungjinwoo:l
Or she's just being polite and awkward. Could be nothing. Context?
Hiroto:
It's in a letter. From a girl. That wasn't meant for me. But now she's replying anyway.
MidoriDrawz:
Wait, WHAT?
KawaSimp99:
You're living in a shojo manga now?
Tamahawk:
Context makes this spicier. Proceed.
KawaSimp99:
She's totally thinking about you now. 100%.
Gojo55:
Nah, she's just being awkward and trying not to feel bad about bothering him.
Tamahawk:
OR it's an emotional shield. "I guess" = vulnerability but with plausible deniability.
The debate quickly devolved into a GIF war and speculation on whether Yumi was a secret tsundere or just deeply anxious.
Still unsatisfied, Hiroto opened a new tab on his phone, found a free AI site, and typed:
"What does it mean when someone ends a sentence with 'I guess'?" like: Please don't mind me I guess.
The AI responded:
__
> "The phrase 'I guess' is often used to soften a statement, express uncertainty, or reduce the emotional weight of what's being said. In this context—'Anyway, please don't mind me, I guess'—the speaker may be:
1.Trying to be polite while still expressing emotion.
2.Hoping you do mind them, but not wanting to admit it.
3.Unsure how their message is being received and therefore hedging their vulnerability.
It's a subtle way to say, 'I'm opening up, but I'm also scared of how you'll react.'"
__
Hiroto read it three times, eyebrows slowly rising.
"So… she does kinda care," he whispered to himself.
He put the letter down on his desk and stared at it again, a faint heat rising in his cheeks.
"Oh god, what do I even write next?"