One week passed like a dream.
Every afternoon, Himari found herself drifting toward the third-floor art room. No matter how long her classes felt or how noisy her classmates were, her heart always calmed the moment she reached that door and saw Haruki waiting for her.
They didn't need grand words. Sometimes, they just sat together and sketched in silence. Other times, Haruki read her poems from his notebook—shy at first, but gradually more open as she listened, her eyes soft with admiration.
He had started drawing her now.
He hadn't said it out loud, but she'd seen the way he studied her when he thought she wasn't looking. The slight angle of her jaw, the way she held her pencil, the curve of her smile when she was lost in thought. She pretended not to notice… and blushed every time.
But not everything was soft and easy.
Because on the second Monday of April, a transfer student arrived.
Her name was Mayu Kanzaki.
She walked into class with long black hair tied in a high ribbon, wearing a clean white cardigan over her uniform. Her voice was calm, almost cold. But her eyes—sharp, clever—swept across the room with a quiet confidence.
She was beautiful, no doubt about it. But it wasn't just her looks. She carried herself like someone who already knew how people worked—like she was used to walking into a room and turning every head.
Himari didn't think much of it.
Until lunch.
"Excuse me," Mayu said, appearing beside Himari's desk with her tray in hand. "Mind if I sit here?"
"Oh, sure," Himari said quickly, scooting aside.
Ayaka raised an eyebrow but said nothing.
Mayu glanced at her sketchbook, which lay half-open beside her rice ball. "You draw?"
"A little," Himari said, feeling oddly self-conscious.
"You're in the art club?"
"No… I just sketch sometimes."
Mayu gave a small smile. "That's cute. I sketch too. And paint. And sculpt, sometimes. I actually used to model for a studio before we moved."
Ayaka blinked. "Wow. That's… a lot."
Mayu nodded gracefully. "Actually, I came to see the art room after school today. I heard it has good light. I wonder if anyone's using it."
Himari felt something cold run through her chest.
---
That afternoon, she walked more quickly than usual.
When she reached the art room door, she paused.
Voices.
One was Haruki's. The other—she didn't want to believe it—was Mayu's.
"Wow… so you're the one who draws these?" Mayu's voice rang inside. "They're incredible. So detailed. And emotional. You don't mind if I look, do you?"
A quiet pause.
Then Haruki's voice. "I… guess not."
Something in Himari's chest tightened, though she wasn't sure why. She stepped back.
And left without opening the door.
---
That evening, she sat in her room with her sketchbook open in her lap. She hadn't drawn a single line.
She knew she shouldn't feel jealous. Haruki wasn't hers—not really. They hadn't said the words. They hadn't made any promises. But still…
Still.
She wanted to be the only one who knew his quiet smile. The only one who heard his poems before he erased them. The only one who made him laugh softly under the falling petals.
Her fingers tightened on the pencil. Then she drew a single line.
And another.
By the time the moon rose, she had drawn herself in the art room.
Alone.