Chapter 3 - A Day in Her World
The next morning came gently, wrapped in a soft spring breeze that carried the scent of blooming cherry blossoms through the open window of Yuuta's room.
He stirred from his sleep slowly, blinking up at the ceiling as fragments of last night's walk with Miyuki played behind his eyes.
Her head against his chest, her whisper warm against his uniform shirt, the steady thrum of her heartbeat against his… it was all still vivid. Real.
And somehow, it made waking up feel like an extension of a dream.
He reached for his phone and immediately saw her message waiting, timestamped at exactly 6:01 a.m.
Miyuki:"I dreamt you walked me home in the rain. You had your jacket over my head like in dramas. Very gallant. Do it for real someday, okay?"
He chuckled, typing his reply with groggy fingers.
Yuuta:"If you bring the rain, I'll bring the jacket."
A reply came instantly.
Miyuki:"Deal. Now hurry up or I'll eat your breakfast too."
She always did that—insert herself into his mornings with effortless affection, as though she'd always been part of his routine. And maybe she had. Maybe she always would be.
They met at the usual corner, under the tall lamppost near the bakery. Miyuki was already nibbling on a melon pan, her cheeks faintly puffed as she chewed, eyes squinting happily against the sun.
"You're late," she mumbled through a mouthful.
"You're always early," he countered, already reaching into the bakery bag she extended toward him.
This morning she was in her summer blouse—slightly sheer, with just enough visibility to remind him he had a beautiful, mischievous girlfriend.
Her navy skirt swayed a little higher than uniform regulations would allow, and she wore it with the confidence of someone who knew exactly how she looked and who was watching.
They walked together through the bright, bustling streets, their arms brushing occasionally, the distance between them deliberately careless.
Students passed by in waves, some nodding hello, others whispering or smiling as they saw the couple.
"Do you ever get tired of people staring?" Yuuta asked as they waited at a crossing.
Miyuki tilted her head. "Why? Does it bother you?"
"Not really. But sometimes it feels like we're in a movie or something."
She leaned in close, brushing her lips just shy of his ear. "Well then, you better act the part of the romantic lead, Mr. Protagonist."
He blushed furiously.
She laughed as the light turned green, tugging him along by the wrist.
Classes passed in a blur of chalkboards, yawns, and stifled glances. Yuuta sat near the window, occasionally sneaking peeks at Miyuki, who would scribble furiously when called upon, only to doodle hearts in the margins of her notes when the teacher wasn't looking.
At lunch, she appeared beside his desk with her bento in hand. "We're eating outside today."
"We are?"
"Yes. You're treating me to sunshine and conversation. Now come."
They sat beneath a cherry tree in the courtyard, shade dappling their uniforms. Miyuki's bento was a mess of rolled omelet, rice shaped like hearts, and strawberries stacked into a pyramid.
"You made this yourself?" Yuuta asked.
She popped a strawberry into her mouth. "Nope. My mom did. But I arranged it!"
"I can tell."
"Want a bite?" she offered, holding a fork toward him.
He leaned forward, lips parting—only for her to swiftly eat the piece herself.
"You walked into that one," she teased.
"I always do."
She winked. "It's part of your charm."
Their lunch was full of laughter and soft silences. It was the kind of moment that didn't ask for anything grand. Just presence. Just closeness. Just… them.
After school, Miyuki waited for him again by the shoe lockers, her bag slung lazily over one shoulder, a thin plastic bag dangling from the other.
"Come with me today," she said without preamble.
"Where?"
"My place."
Yuuta blinked. "Your… your place?"
She raised an eyebrow. "Yes. You've never been, right? I figured it's about time."
He swallowed hard. "Is anyone home?"
"Nope. Mom's on a trip. Dad's overseas. I'm alone. It's tragic, really."
He wasn't sure if she was joking. She often blurred the line between playful and serious with such ease, it left him breathless.
"Unless… you don't want to come?"
"No, I do. I just… wasn't expecting…"
She leaned close, voice soft. "Don't worry. I won't eat you."
That didn't help.
They walked in companionable quiet toward her apartment complex, a modern building nestled between a flower shop and a quiet café. She lived on the third floor, in a unit that smelled faintly of vanilla and fabric softener.
"Welcome to my lair," she announced as she unlocked the door and pushed it open.
Yuuta stepped inside cautiously, eyes wide. The space was tidy but lived-in—cozy cushions on the floor, books stacked unevenly on a shelf, a plush alpaca sitting guard on her bed.
Miyuki set down her bag and kicked off her shoes. "Make yourself at home. Water? Juice?"
"Juice's fine."
She disappeared into the kitchen and returned with two glasses of apple juice and a plate of cookies.
He sat stiffly at the low table in the living room, unsure where to look. Everything smelled like her. Like sunlight and warmth and faint perfume.
She plopped down beside him, thigh brushing his.
"I've never had a boy over before," she admitted.
"Really?"
"Yeah. You're special."
He didn't know what to say to that, so he drank.
They talked about classes, about manga, about the stupid rumor that a ghost haunted the third-floor bathroom.
Eventually, conversation drifted, and they found themselves lying side by side on the floor, staring up at the ceiling.
Her hand found his.
"You ever think about the future?" she asked quietly.
"Sometimes."
"What do you see?"
He turned his head toward her. "You."
She smiled without looking at him. "Good answer."
A silence fell—not awkward, but weighty with something unspoken.
"Can I lay on your chest?" she asked suddenly.
He blinked. "Sure."
She shifted, curling into his side, resting her head against him like it was the most natural thing in the world. Her fingers toyed with the fabric of his shirt. His heart beat loud in his ears.
"You're really warm," she murmured.
"You're really close."
"Should I move?"
"No."
She didn't. In fact, she moved closer.
The room felt very small. Very quiet. Her hair tickled his neck, her breath warm against his collarbone.
"You're nervous," she whispered.
"Terrified."
"Don't be."
Her lips brushed his neck. Just a whisper of contact. But it set fire to every nerve.
"I'm not going to push you," she said, lifting her head just enough to look him in the eye. "But I do want to know how much of me you can handle."
He swallowed.
"Not because I want to tease you," she added. "But because I like being close to you. I like the way you flinch when I lean in. The way your ears turn red. I like seeing how much of me you can take without running away."
He met her gaze. "I won't run."
Her smile was soft, not playful. Not mischievous. Just warm.
"Then hold me. Properly."
He did. Arms around her back, hands tentative at first, then firmer as she relaxed into him. Her body fit perfectly against his, like a puzzle piece he didn't realize had been missing.
They stayed like that until the light began to fade, and reality began to pull at the edges of their little world.
Eventually, she pulled away just enough to rest her forehead against his.
"I'm really glad it's you," she whispered.
And he knew, without doubt, that he'd remember this afternoon for the rest of his life.