CHAPTER 2
I always thought success would feel louder.
Like applause. Or relief. Or at least some clear sign that I had finally arrived somewhere I was supposed to be. But most days it just felt quiet. Like sitting alone in an office before everyone else arrived, listening to the hum of the lights and pretending that the stillness meant peace instead of emptiness.
I learned early that silence was easier than asking for things.
My parents were kind. Tired. Poor in the way people try very hard not to show their children. When the scholarship letter arrived, my mother cried. Not the dramatic kind. Just quiet tears while folding laundry, like she didn't want to inconvenience anyone with her emotions.
It was a prestigious school. Middle and high school combined. Tuition covered, yes, but there were always other things. Books. Uniform adjustments. Transportation. The kind of expenses that don't look big on paper but add up inside your chest when you know where the money comes from.
So I decided early.
I would not be a burden.
I studied. Harder than most. Not because I loved studying, but because effort felt like something I could control. People praised me for being disciplined. They didn't know it was fear wearing a neat uniform.
I didn't talk much at school.
Not because I disliked people. I just never felt like my words were necessary. There were already louder voices. Funnier ones. Better ones.
Except for him.
He stood across the road at the bus stop every morning. Same place. Same time. Same quiet presence. At first, I only noticed him because routine makes patterns obvious. Then because he noticed me back.
We waved.
It felt strange at first. Waving to someone you don't know. But after a while, it felt stranger not to.
Sign language became mandatory in Hokkaido schools back then. Everyone complained. Said it was useless. I didn't mind. It gave my hands something to do when my voice felt too exposed.
He was clumsy at it. Over-expressive. Sometimes wrong. Sometimes making up gestures when he forgot the proper ones. I found myself smiling more than I meant to.
Did you read the new Jump?
He would sign with exaggerated enthusiasm.
Which chapter did you like?
I answered carefully, like my opinions might somehow matter more if I presented them neatly.
We didn't talk out loud much. Once, maybe twice. The distance across the road felt symbolic somehow. Like neither of us wanted to cross it.
One morning, he shouted my name. I startled so badly I almost dropped my bag. I shouted his back, cheeks burning, immediately regretting it. After that, we returned to signing. Like the moment had been too real.
Not friends.
Not strangers.
Just something that existed quietly.
High school passed that way. Days blending together. Exams. Club activities I never joined. Lunches eaten quickly. And always, the bus stop.
I noticed things about him without meaning to. How people gravitated toward him. How teachers spoke his name more often. How girls watched him when he wasn't looking.
I told myself it didn't matter.
I told myself I didn't care.
Valentine's Day came in our second year.
I hadn't planned anything. I really hadn't. I just… ended up making chocolate. Simple ones. Not too sweet. My mother helped me temper it properly, hands guiding mine like it was something important.
"Is this for someone special?" she asked.
I shook my head too fast. She smiled anyway.
That day, after school, I went to his building. I don't know why. Maybe curiosity. Maybe stupidity. Maybe hope pretending to be something else.
His locker was surrounded.
Girls. Laughing. Nervous. Bold. Letters spilling out when he opened it, like a scene from a manga I would later pretend I didn't read.
I stood there for a second too long.
Watched him smile awkwardly. Watched him thank them. Watched how natural it all looked.
I felt small. Smaller than usual.
I waited until no one was looking. Slid my chocolate into his locker. Left without saying anything.
On the bus ride home, I told myself he would never notice. That it didn't matter. That this was how things were supposed to be.
I went to college later. Different city. Different routine. The bus stop disappeared from my life quietly, like it had never existed.
I studied. Worked. Succeeded.
And still, sometimes, I wondered if he ever saw it.
Years later, when the office door opened and he said his name, my body reacted before my mind did.
Yuuto Shibata.
Not as handsome as before. But the same energy. The same presence. The same quiet way of existing like the world never quite overwhelmed him.
I recognized him instantly.
I hid my face because smiling felt too revealing.
"Do you still read Jump?" I asked.
And for the first time in years, silence felt warm.