"Do you need help studying?"
The question caught Kaoruko Waguri mid-sip of her juice carton during lunch break in the public library. She looked up, blinking.
Kiyotaka Ayanokoji stood in front of her table , expression unreadable as always, holding his bookbag loosely at his side.
"I heard you mention something about a quiz," he said.
"Oh... right." She smiled, though it came with a guilty flutter in her chest. "Yeah, actually. That'd be really helpful."
She was lying.
Her grades were fine. She didn't need tutoring. But the opportunity had presented itself like a falling star, and she wasn't about to let it pass.
Later That Afternoon – At a Small Café
A soft jazz melody hummed in the background of a quiet corner café, the kind with warm wooden tables and potted succulents on every surface. Waguri and Kiyotaka sat across from one another at a corner booth by the window.
Her notebook was open, notes half-filled in. His handwriting was neat and sharp, guiding her through the pages.
"You already know this," he said, tapping a vocabulary list.
Waguri smiled sheepishly. "Just making sure it's all solid."
He looked at her for a second too long.
"You're not the one who needed help, are you?"
She stiffened slightly, then let out a small laugh. "Busted."
"Then why ask?"
Waguri looked down at her notebook, fingers lightly fidgeting with her pen.
"I guess... I just wanted to spend time with you. Even if it meant pretending I needed help."
Kiyotaka said nothing. She glanced up to find him watching her quietly, not judging, not pulling away.
"Is that weird?" she asked, voice soft.
"No," he said. "Not weird."
Their drinks arrived—a black coffee for him, and a berry tea for her. They sipped in silence for a while, a comfortable quiet settling between them.
Outside, the city moved like a watercolor painting—soft and slow in the golden afternoon.
Waguri's POV – Monologue
I lied to be near him.
I knew I didn't need help. I've studied alone for years, kept my grades up, stayed organized. But when he offered... something in me said yes before I could think.
Because being near him feels different.
It's not exciting like a rollercoaster or dramatic like in romance novels. It's... quiet. Safe. Gentle in a way I didn't know I needed.
He doesn't try to impress me.
He doesn't show off.
But when he looks at me—even with that unreadable face—it feels like I matter. Like I'm not just another girl. Like I'm seen.
I hug him more than I probably should.
I tease him sometimes, too much maybe.
But today, I sat across from him in a little café with fake homework and real butterflies in my chest... and it was perfect.
Even if it started with a lie, the time I spent with him felt true.
And that's enough for now.