It was the little things that made Miyako Sakamoto's mornings feel just right—the snug comfort of her favorite cardigan, the rhythmic click of her shoes against the pavement, and the inviting aroma of freshly baked bread drifting from the corner bakery she always passed.
But more than anything else, it was him.
Souta Fujiwara.
She spotted him near the university gates, leaning casually against the fence with a half-finished coffee cup in hand, that usual relaxed expression softening his features. His cool black hair caught the morning sunlight with a gentle sheen, and the moment their eyes met, his lips curled into that quiet, familiar smile.
"Morning," he greeted, handing her a warm drink from the vending machine behind him. "Thought you might've skipped breakfast again."
Miyako blinked, adjusting her glasses. "How did you know?"
"You always do when you stay up revising. Your texts get weirdly formal."
She tilted her head, confused. "Really?"
"You said 'Noted.' At 2 a.m."
"…Okay, maybe I do," she mumbled, cheeks puffing out slightly in embarrassment.
Souta chuckled, brushing a hand through his hair. The two of them strolled through campus side by side like always. Their silence wasn't awkward—it was peaceful. Familiar.
Miyako clutched the can of coffee tightly, smiling softly. She always believed what Souta told her. Whether it was the smallest joke or the most subtle observation, she rarely questioned it. Not because she was naïve—though some might say so—but because she trusted him. Too easily, perhaps.
She always had a habit of believing people without thinking twice.
---
In class, Miyako slipped into her usual seat by the window, Souta settling in beside her. As always, she pulled out her neatly organized notes, while Souta scrolled lazily through his phone, clearly about to copy half her work.
"Don't think I don't notice what you're doing," she whispered.
"I'm just admiring your effort," he replied innocently. "With my eyes."
She blinked. "…That sounds kind of poetic."
He smirked. "Does it?"
She nodded slowly, totally buying into his smooth line, before realizing he was teasing her.
"Wait—you're making fun of me, aren't you?!"
Souta laughed under his breath as she huffed, cheeks puffing again. She was cute when she was flustered. He loved how easy it was to throw her off with just a few words.
Still, even as she pouted, she slid her notes a little closer to him.
---
The professor's voice faded into the background as Miyako peeked sideways. Souta had his chin resting on his hand now, eyes half-lidded, listening quietly but entirely present.
He was always like that—calm, attentive, and full of gestures that spoke louder than words.
Sometimes, she wondered when she had started falling for him.
Other times, like now, she was sure she never stopped.
---
That afternoon, they found themselves in the library. Miyako had her nose buried in a thick book while Souta absentmindedly doodled in the margins of his notebook.
"You know," she murmured without looking up, "people keep asking if we're dating."
"And?"
She peeked at him over her glasses, fingers nervously toying with the corner of her page. "What should I tell them?"
Souta didn't answer right away. Instead, he reached under the table and gently took her hand—steady, warm, grounding.
"Tell them… I like the way you look when you're focused," he said softly. "Tell them I want to see that every day."
Her heart stuttered.
She stared at their hands, her thoughts blurring into nothing. In that moment, Miyako wasn't thinking of the meaning behind his words, or whether this was a confession or just another one of his subtle ways of teasing her.
She just smiled. Brightly. Innocently.
Because if Souta said it, she wanted to believe it.
Even if her heart wasn't sure what it meant yet.
Of course! Here's an extended continuation of Chapter 1, showing Miyako and Souta walking home together—adding more sweet chemistry, her innocence, and subtle foreshadowing of future tension:
The sun had already started to dip behind the buildings by the time they left the library. Long shadows stretched across the path, and the air carried the crisp edge of the approaching evening.
"Let me walk you home," Souta said, falling into step beside her without waiting for an answer. He always did.
"You don't have to," Miyako said softly, though she didn't slow down or protest. She never really meant it when she said that. Deep down, she liked having him there. His presence made her feel safe—like nothing could go wrong as long as he was near.
"I want to," he replied simply.
Their steps echoed through the quiet streets, lined with cherry trees that had just begun to bloom. A gentle breeze scattered a few petals past them. Miyako reached out and caught one between her fingers, smiling at the delicate pink.
"You know," she said, holding it up, "they say if you catch a falling petal, you'll find love."
Souta looked at her sideways, a quiet smirk tugging at his lips. "You believe that?"
She nodded, eyes wide with sincerity. "Of course! Why would anyone make up something like that?"
He didn't answer. Instead, he gently plucked the petal from her hand and tucked it into the cover of his notebook.
"Then I'll keep it. Just in case."
Miyako's cheeks flushed. She looked away quickly, heart skipping at the weight of such a small gesture. She wasn't sure what it meant—but like always, she believed it anyway.
They reached the front of her apartment a little while later. She turned to face him, hesitating.
"Thanks for today," she murmured. "You always make things… easier."
Souta leaned slightly closer, just enough to make her breath catch.
"I'll see you tomorrow?"
She nodded, flustered. "Yeah. Tomorrow."
He gave her that same soft smile—the one that made her chest feel warm—and turned to leave.
Miyako watched him walk away, hand resting lightly on the strap of her bag. As she turned toward her building, a strange shiver passed down her spine. She paused, glancing behind her.
The street was empty.
But for the briefest second, she'd felt like someone else was watching her.