The day after meeting her, Arata couldn't stop sketching.
Between classes, between sips of milk tea, between breaths—his pencil kept moving. The same image over and over again: sapphire eyes framed by jet-black bangs, a strong chin resting gently on a guitar case, fingers curled like they knew the shape of chords even when idle. The girl's face lived in the shadows of his sketchbook like a memory he wasn't supposed to remember, like something that had happened in another life.
He didn't even know her name.
But something about her stirred his chest like music.
It was a quiet Saturday afternoon, and Arata was seated by the tall glass window of a café near the North Oak campus. The café was warm—lavender-scented steam rising from mugs, soft music playing low, shelves lined with books about art and poetry. He came here often with Umeko, but today she had gone to her sculpture workshop.
So it was just him.
Him, his sketchbook, and that face.
He tapped the corner of his phone with the end of his pencil, debating whether or not to search Kizashi Hoshine. She'd mentioned the band name casually, like it didn't matter, but Arata knew it did.
So he typed it in.
The screen loaded slowly. Then: a band profile.
KIZASHI HOSHINE (KH)
Genre: Indie rock / Pop fusion
Lead vocals & rhythm: Fujibayashi no Kagemasa Tsubame
Recent EP: "Nightfall Eden"
Arata blinked. The name hit like a quiet bell in his chest.
Fujibayashi no Kagemasa Tsubame.
Even her name sounded like wind rustling through silk.
He tapped on one of the music videos. The screen filled with grainy light, the scene of a small live house. And there she was—guitar slung over her shoulder, body swaying with each chord, lips brushing the mic, her voice cool and clear and haunting.
The same face. The same eyes.
But so different.
This version of her was confident, electric, unstoppable. Watching her perform felt like being pulled into a dream you didn't want to end.
Arata stared, breath soft against his fingers.
He remembered the way she'd typed "Bye" with her lips. The way her scent clung to the air when she stepped off the train. The way she looked at him like he wasn't strange, like he wasn't broken.
Just… quiet.
He hit pause. The silence in the café suddenly grew louder.
Then the bell over the door jingled.
Someone stepped in.
He didn't look up at first. But then the soft vibration of boots against the wooden floor made him glance—
And he froze.
She was here.
Tsubame.
"Hey, Kyun."
She walked to the counter, speaking casually with the barista like she'd been here many times before. No guitar today, just her fitted blazer, silver necklace glinting against her collarbone, and those same eyes—sharp and unreadable.
"You're late, Tsu." She said, slipping her hand for tissue. "Band ran long. One of my members instrument broke out."
Her lips moved gently and with same tender but it was fast that he couldn't keep up with it. His stuck on her smile— bright and warm.
"Baby magnet, seems you got a new follower." Kyun said, slightly glancing at Arata.
She ordered something, then turned around—
And saw him.
Their eyes met.
Arata panicked.
He dropped his pencil. Fumbled to grab it. Almost knocked over his tea.
She tilted her head.
Then… she smiled.
It wasn't the distant smile she wore on stage or the teasing grin from the train. It was something softer. Warmer.
Like she remembered him too.
She walked over slowly, hands in her pockets. Her boots clicked gently against the floorboards until she stood at his table.
"You again," she said.
Arata blinked hard. Then quickly reached for his phone.
"You're famous," he typed.
She leaned in to read. "No I'm not," she replied with a quiet laugh. "Barely."
He showed her the band video.
Tsubame's mouth curled into a sideways grin. "Stalked me already?"
Arata's ears turned red. He typed frantically:
"I just wanted to know your name."
That made her pause.
Then she pulled out the chair across from him and sat.
"I'm Tsubame. Fujibayashi no Kagemasa Tsubame, but just call me Tsubame."
She extended a hand, fingers long and calloused from playing strings.
Arata stared at her hand for a moment, then reached out shyly.
His palm felt so small against hers.
He typed:
"Shirukasekai Arata."
She repeated his name slowly, testing it like a note on her tongue. "Shirukasekai… Arata." She smiled. "Pretty."
His heart did something dangerous in his chest.
She looked down at the sketchbook, flipping it slightly toward her.
Her eyes widened.
It was filled with her—profile sketches, full-body outlines, scribbles of her hands on a guitar, her expression frozen mid-smile.
"You drew these?" she asked.
He nodded slowly.
"...You remember my face this well?"
He tapped:
"I couldn't forget."
She looked up at him with something like awe. Or maybe tenderness.
Then the barista called her name for the order.
Tsubame stood slowly, grabbing her mug, but instead of leaving, she returned to the table.
"I only came here because Kyun told me about it," she said. "He said this was a quiet place with good tea."
Arata blinked, surprised. He typed:
"You know Watanabe Kyun?"
She chuckled. "I help him out sometimes at his café. He's like a big brother-slash-boss."
Arata felt a small smile tug his lips.
He typed:
"Umeko loves his desserts."
Tsubame took a slow sip from her mug. "So you know Umeko too?"
He nodded. Then added:
"She's my best friend."
Tsubame stared at him for a second too long.
Then her smile returned. "Wow," she murmured. "What a small world."
A silence fell again, but it was comfortable this time.
She glanced down at his hands, then tapped her fingers thoughtfully against his fingers. He looked at her— jolted and befuddled.
"I want to learn how to talk to you properly," she said. "Not just through your phone. Will you… teach me sometime?"
His breath caught.
Then he nodded. Vigorously.
She leaned forward. "It's a date then."
His cheeks turned pink.
Tsubame grinned like she'd won a game he didn't know they were playing.
"I'll see you around, Arata."
And just like that, she left—again, the sound of her boots echoing in his ears.
But this time, she left her name behind.
—To Be Continued