The first weeks of summer term slipped by quietly — no festivals, no big tests, just the gentle rhythm of life that filled each day with soft repetition.
Morning greetings.
Afternoon sunlight.
The rustle of notebooks, laughter at lunch.
It was nothing extraordinary — but for Haruto, that was exactly what made it feel so rare.
---
One Thursday morning, Haruto arrived early. The classroom was almost empty except for Aoi, who was sketching by the window, her pencil moving in small, deliberate lines.
She looked up as he entered. "Morning."
"Morning," he replied, setting his bag down. "You're early."
"I couldn't sleep," she admitted, smiling sheepishly. "I had this idea for a sketch, and it wouldn't leave me alone."
He walked closer and glanced at her paper. It was a half-finished drawing of their classroom — sunlight falling through the window, soft and quiet.
"It's… us?" he asked.
"Kind of," Aoi said, tapping her pencil. "It's more about how it feels here lately. Warm, even when nothing's happening."
Haruto watched the strokes of her pencil — light, intentional. "You're good at turning feelings into pictures."
She laughed. "And you're good at saying things that make me blush."
That made him look away, flustered. "I didn't mean it like that."
"I know," she said softly. "That's why it works."
---
The school day passed in its easy rhythm. When the final bell rang, the sunlight was slanting orange across the desks.
As Haruto packed up, Aoi approached again — this time with a pair of paper cups.
"Here," she said, offering one. "Cold tea. The cafeteria's been selling it for cheap."
He took it, the condensation cool against his hand. "Thanks."
They sat together near the window, sipping in companionable silence. Outside, the world glowed — cicadas humming, clouds drifting lazily past.
> "It's strange," Aoi murmured after a while. "A few months ago, we barely talked."
"Yeah."
"And now…" she smiled. "It feels like we've always been sitting here."
Haruto glanced sideways at her — the fading light framed her face, soft and content.
> Maybe this is what change looks like, he thought. Not sudden. Not loud. Just... gentle, like sunlight moving a few inches every day.
He took another sip and smiled faintly. "I don't mind that."
Aoi looked at him — then back out the window, her expression unreadable but warm.
"Me neither."
---
Aoi's Thought — That Evening
As she walked home, the light fading behind the rooftops, Aoi found herself replaying the small, quiet things — his smile, the way his voice softened when he said something honest.
> He's really different now, she thought.
Still quiet, but not closed off. Like there's more air in the room when he's there.
She hugged her sketchbook to her chest and smiled to herself.
Maybe that was how connection grew — not in leaps or sudden sparks, but in shared silences and small moments that stayed with you long after the day ended.