I don't know when it started. Maybe it was the first time I saw her. Or maybe it was the moment I realized I was too much of a coward to talk to her. Either way, I made a mistake—a mistake that still haunts me to this day.
It happened last year. I was just a normal first-year student, walking home after buying bread from the corner store. That's when I saw her—Rina Tachibana.
She was laughing with her friends. Her voice was light, like wind chimes in spring. Effortless. Untouchable. And completely unaware that I existed.
My heart pounded. I told myself it was enough just to see her smile. But it wasn't. I wanted more—I wanted her to know me. To say my name, just once, the way she did with her friends.
I'd thought about talking to her so many times. A simple "Hey" would've done it. But every time, the words locked up. I froze. She always looked like she lived on a different planet—one I had no right to reach.
But that day… I cracked. I made a choice. A stupid, weak, desperate choice.
I ran home, dropped the bread on the counter, and turned right back around. I told myself I just wanted to see her again. Maybe she'd be alone. Maybe this time… maybe I'd say something.
She wasn't alone.
But I stayed anyway, trailing a few steps behind. I told myself I was just walking the same direction. Just a coincidence. But I wasn't fooling anyone—not even myself.
What are you doing? I asked myself over and over. Go home. Stop this. But I kept walking.
Then she turned.
Her gaze locked on mine.
Her friends noticed. The mood shifted in an instant—like a cloud blotting out the sun.
"Are you stalking me?"
My heart stopped.
No. This wasn't how it was supposed to go.
Her voice wasn't angry. It was scared. Her eyes—those warm, shining eyes I'd always admired—looked at me like I was something twisted.
"I—I wasn't—" My throat clenched. I tried to speak, to explain. But no words came out.
"I've seen you staring in class too," she said, louder now. Sharper. "What's your deal?"
"I… It's nothing," I managed, my voice cracking like dry glass.
"Nothing?" Her brows furrowed. "You think creeping around behind me is nothing?"
She stepped forward. Her friends flanked her like guards.
"If you have something to say, say it to my face."
I wanted to. I really did.
Tell her you like her. Tell her this was a mistake. That you're sorry. Just say something. Anything.
But all I could do was clench my fists.
And then—I ran.
Like a coward.
I didn't look back.
After that, I avoided her. I stopped glancing her way in class. I stopped taking the hallway that passed by her clubroom. I stopped… everything.
I told myself it was over. That I had to move on.
But I didn't.
I deleted every note I had ever written for her—some were just fragments of thoughts, others whole letters I never had the guts to send. I erased every draft of unsent messages that began with "Would you maybe want to go somewhere this weekend?" and ended with "…you probably don't even know who I am."
I even found an old voice memo I recorded months ago—the one where I was too embarrassed to say her name, so I just called her "the most beautiful girl in school." I hovered over the delete button for a long time. And then I pressed it.
All of it—gone.
But it didn't help. Because the moment stayed with me. It still does. It replays in my head like a loop I can't shut off.
Then, as if fate wanted to mock me, I ended up repeating the year. Now I'm a first-year again. She's a second-year. Different floors. Different buildings. Different lives.
Maybe that's for the best. Maybe it's a second chance to forget.
But I don't want to forget.
I still want to talk to her. I still want to apologize.
And more than anything… I still like her.
Maybe I'm an idiot. Maybe I don't deserve forgiveness. But something inside me won't shut up. It tells me if I don't at least try, I'll regret it for the rest of my life.
This time… I won't run away.