As we passed the riverbank, with its old stone path and the gentle murmuring of the current like an old man gossiping about the weather, I decided to test the waters—emotionally, not literally.
"You always liked writing, right? Especially poetry?" I asked casually, like I wasn't already a master-level stalker of her breaktime habits.
Seriously, I've seen her scribbling in her notebook during recess more times than I've blinked in my life. And each time, she had that embarrassing, rare creature expression—blushing like she'd written something scandalous, and giggling like she was about to marry the paper.
Her pace slowed.
Not noticeably. Just a little.
But enough that I, a trained observer in the subtle art of "uh-oh-she's-having-a-flashback," picked it up immediately.
"…Y-Yeah," she said after a pause, voice a little tight. "Since elementary school."
Hmm.
That pause.
That crack.
Her voice had the same energy as someone trying to hold back tears while reciting the multiplication table.
"…Really?" I tried to keep it light. "I thought your poem this morning was beautiful."
I watched her carefully.
"Even back then," I added. "Most people can't put feelings into words like that. I mean, I can barely order ramen without sounding like an existential crisis."
Still no response.
But I saw it—the microexpressions.
The way her fingers clenched just a bit around her bag strap.
The twitch in her mouth—not quite a frown, not quite a pout, more like a sad emoji that forgot how to emote.
And her eyes.
There was something in her eyes. Something that shimmered—not with joy, but with… history.
The kind you don't write in diaries. The kind you pretend didn't happen while staring at the ceiling at 2AM.
I was quiet.
I didn't want to scare it off. Or her.
"…Thank you," she said finally.
But she said it like it hurt.
That word… "Thank you"… sounded less like gratitude and more like an apology disguised in polite packaging. Like a "thank you" you give when someone hands you a birthday gift from the dollar store but you're too kind to scream.
Or maybe it was regret? The kind where your chest feels tight and your stomach feels like it's on a poorly operated roller coaster run by unpaid interns.
Shit. Did I mess this up again?
You absolute doughnut, I mentally slapped myself. You had one job.
Just compliment her and pretend you're genuinely interested in her hobbies—like that dumb romance manual with the sparkly cover told me to. Not unlock trauma.
We walked in silence a bit more.
The air between us was softer now—less filled with uncertainty, more with careful curiosity.
I glanced at her again.
Her bangs caught the light. She had a habit of tucking them behind her ear when nervous. She did it now, again and again, without noticing.
She liked me.
Or rather, the blessing made her feel like she did.
But beneath it, the real Rin was still there. With her little tics, and her guarded heart.
I wanted to know that girl.
I wanted to see if she'd let me in—not because a god forced her to, but because she chose to.
As we approached the corner near her home, Rin suddenly slowed down even more—if that was even humanly possible. At this rate, we'd reach her front door sometime around the next Ice Age.
She stopped.
"Um… thank you for walking with me."
Her voice was so quiet, I was 90% sure it was actually meant for the ants crawling by our feet. Still, I heard it. Of course I did. I'd long since attuned my ears to Rin's soft mumble frequency, like an awkward introvert whispering through a pillow during a windstorm.
I smiled, trying to act cool. Not too cool though. Just... like the kind of cool you get from a vending machine on a summer day. Approachable. Mildly refreshing. Not life-changing.
"I should be the one saying that. You walked slower just so I could match your pace."
She blinked. "Huh?"
"You always walk faster than that."
Beat.
Pause.
Cricket noises.
I began to regret speaking.
And then—
Her lips curved into the tiniest, most honest smile I'd ever seen. Not the forced "Haha-I'm-not-panicking-right-now" smile she gave teachers. Not the awkward twitchy one from when her pen broke during a test. No. This one was soft. Real. Practically illegal in how cute it was.
"…You notice the weirdest things, Mizuki-kun."
I gave a lopsided grin.
"well… you looked cute."
Yep. There it goes. My mouth, leading me into death like a lemming off a cliff.
Her breath caught. My brain screamed ABORT MISSION ABORT MISSION and started drafting a will.
I braced myself.
she clutched her bag tighter to her chest, like it was her last line of defense against my surprise compliments. Her cheeks turned a glorious shade of red—somewhere between "flustered schoolgirl" and "I might self-combust in 3 seconds." Her eyes shimmered, like they were on the verge of launching sparkles straight into my retinas.
"…Then I'll try to be more cute."
Wh—what the heck kind of boss-level response is that!? Is this a hidden Rin EX route!?
Before I could react, she spun around, sprinted toward her house, and vanished inside like a startled tanuki.
The door shut behind her with a click—not a slam, just a soft escape.
I stood there, stunned. My brain short-circuited.