Our bench beneath the sakura tree became an unofficial ritual. We met there even when the petals had fallen, even when it rained a little. I didn't know if it meant anything to her, but to me, it meant everything.
One Thursday, after our English oral test, I felt completely drained. I had fumbled through the dialogue and mispronounced "vegetables" as "vegetaballs," which made the class snicker. At lunch, I slumped onto the bench.
"Rough day?" Miyu asked, passing me a carton of orange juice.
I took it with a sigh. "My English career is over."
"Vegetaballs is kind of cute," she said, and then laughed.
"Great. My legacy."
She had a way of laughing that didn't feel mocking. It warmed my chest, even as I groaned about my mistakes.
"You're cute when you sulk," she said offhandedly, not looking up from her lunch.
My brain froze. Did she just call me cute?
"Wait, what?"
"What?" she blinked, realizing what she said. Her face turned pink.
"Nothing," she mumbled quickly, taking a bite of rice.
We both sat in awkward silence for a minute.
Then I blurted out, "You're cute too."
Her chopsticks stopped midair. "Eh?"
I immediately wanted to disappear.
"I mean—not just when you laugh. Like—always. I think."
She slowly put her chopsticks down, eyes still wide. Then, to my surprise, she smiled. A real, full smile.
"I'll forgive the 'I think,'" she said.
The air felt charged, like something had shifted between us. The lunch bell rang, but neither of us moved right away.
"I'm glad we have lunch together," she said softly.
"Me too."
As we stood and brushed off the fallen leaves from our uniforms, her fingers lightly brushed mine. Neither of us pulled away.
It was the kind of moment that feels like the world paused just for the two of us.
Back in class, I barely registered what the teacher said. I was too busy replaying her words in my head.
You're cute when you sulk.
I didn't know where things were going, but I knew something had started.