The festival started with chaos.
The crowd. The noise. Cameras. Laughter.
The cafe in our classroom was cozy: garlands, the scent of sweets, aprons, and Miyako,
who looked...
like from another life in this apron.
Soft, calm, and yet with that look that puts me in a stupor.
"Stop looking," she muttered, setting the plates down. "Or I'll start dropping dishes."
"I can hold out my hands,— I said. — Let it fall.
She laughed.
In a couple of hours
The class began to run out of steam. There are fewer people.
"Kurume, Miyako," the classmate said, "go take a break." We can handle it here.
We exchanged glances.
And they went out into the corridor.
It was almost empty.
Miyako was pulling a bag of buns behind her. I walked beside him, my hands in my pockets.
— Shall we go to an empty auditorium? I suggested. "It's quiet out there.
"How was your date?" "What is it?" she asked softly.
I froze.
He looked at her.
She froze too. But she didn't look away.
—Well... if that's the case, then yes," I said. "It's almost a date."
It was warm inside
We sat by the window. She took out two buns and handed me one.
"Everyone liked you today,— she said, breaking hers. — Especially the sophomores. One even asked for your number.
"Did you give it to me?"
"I wanted to give it to you...— She looked at me. — But for some reason I couldn't.
- why?
"I don't know...— and she smiled. "Probably jealous."
— You know, I wouldn't want you to give your number to anyone either. Except for me.
Pause.
Heat.
It's too warm.
"Then maybe... it's almost a date after all?"
"Almost,— I nodded. — But every day there is less "almost".