1: Before the Confession
The late spring sun spilled golden warmth across the school courtyard, dappling the concrete with scattered light through swaying tree branches. The chatter of students, the thud of shoes against pavement, and the faint scent of cherry blossoms still lingering in the air were all too familiar to Hayato.
He sat on the edge of the planter box outside the literature clubroom, staring at his phone. His thumb hovered over a draft message:
> "Hey Hina, can we talk? There's something I want to tell you."
Hayato deleted it. Again.
It had been like this for the past week. Hesitation, fear, and hope all churning into a cocktail of anxiety in his stomach. But how could he not fall in love with Hina? They'd known each other since kindergarten. She was the one who dragged him into trouble and then helped him out of it. She laughed like the sun and cried over sad anime endings. She was warmth, comfort, and chaos bundled together.
They had joined the same high school, and by some miracle, even ended up in the same class and club—the literature club. She said she joined because she loved books. He joined because he loved her.
He was finally going to confess. After school. Behind the club building. Under the cherry tree where they used to play as kids. He rehearsed it in his mind so many times it felt like muscle memory now.
But fate had different plans.
---
"Hayato," she said that afternoon, just before he could ask her to meet him. Her voice was light, but her hands were fidgeting. That always meant she was nervous.
He smiled gently. "Yeah?"
"I… I need your advice." She avoided his eyes. "It's about love."
His heart skipped. This was it. Maybe she wanted to confess too. Maybe she knew.
He nodded quickly. "Sure! What's up?"
She looked down, smiling sheepishly. "There's this senior… Ryusei-senpai from the basketball team. He's in our club too. I… I like him."
Hayato's world stilled. Like a needle scratching across a vinyl record.
She kept talking. Her voice blurred into white noise.
Ryusei-senpai?
The tall guy who barely showed up to club meetings? The one who wrote dark poetry and had a fanclub?
She liked him?
"I want to tell him," she finished, cheeks rosy. "But I don't know how. Can you help me?"
Hayato's throat tightened. The words he had practiced for weeks crumbled inside him. But he forced a smile. "Of course. Love can't be forced, right?"
Her face lit up. "Thank you, Hayato. You're the best."
She didn't notice how his smile didn't reach his eyes.
---