Day 09 - April 09, 2024
The First Spark of a Flame
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The soft golden light of sunrise slowly crept across the silent office floor, brushing against the crumpled papers scattered like fallen petals. A faint coffee stain bloomed on the corner of a cluttered desk, its ringed edge barely dry. The only light flickered above a single workstation, casting an isolated glow in an otherwise dim office—like a stage light focusing on the lone actor of a fading act.
My eyes stung with every blink. They were sore, bloodshot, and blurry from exhaustion. My fingers trembled, stiff and swollen, stained with graphite and smeared ink. My neck ached like it had turned to stone, and my back felt like someone had driven a cold rod through it. Every nerve screamed at me to stop, but I couldn't.
I hadn't slept since the challenge began.
Dozens of sketch drafts lay before me—each one a failure, each one taunting me. The trash bin was already overflowing with discarded ideas. I kept pushing myself, telling myself that giving up now meant proving everyone right—that I didn't belong here.
I had to prove I did. I had to do it for my future.
For her.
Airi.
Just then—crack.
The tip of my pencil snapped, its clean break echoing louder than it should have. My patience, already hanging by a thread, snapped with it.
"Damn it!" I slammed my hand down on the desk, the sound reverberating through the silence. My throat tightened. "What am I even doing…?"
"Giving up already? Shame on you, young padawan!"
I jolted.
That unmistakably theatrical voice—it could only belong to one person.
Hiroshi. Dressed in his usual chaos of mismatched patterns, he burst into the office like a soap opera star making his grand entrance.
"Behold! I have returned from my legendary quest to conquer Mount Depression! And lo! I bring back… absolutely nothing but my eternal optimism!"
"Hiroshi…" I sighed, massaging my temples. "Please don't."
"Oh-ho! That tone! That tired sigh! You're at DEFCON level burnout!" He pranced toward me dramatically, clutching his heart. "Oh Haruki, my dear tortured artist friend, this pit of despair does not suit you!"
I tried glaring, but I didn't even have the energy.
Hiroshi leaned in, squinting at my face. "Good heavens! He's got the thousand-yard stare! This is worse than I thought!"
"I'm fine."
"You're not! And thus, I shall embark on a sacred mission—to fetch the holy grail of revitalization: Coffee."
"I don't need coffee."
"Don't be absurd. Everyone needs coffee. Even gods need coffee. And I say this as your annoying senpai: You, young man, are in critical condition!"
With a dramatic flourish of his imaginary cape, he turned on his heel and declared, "I shall return! Don't you dare lose consciousness while I'm gone!"
Then he vanished like a melodramatic hurricane.
I blinked, still stunned.
"…What the hell was that?"
As I rested my head on the desk in defeat, a new voice chirped from behind me.
"Oh wow, that's a lot of paper. Did a tornado hit your desk or…?"
Startled, I shot upright and spun around.
There she was.
Sasaki Yuna. Bright-eyed, cheerful, and wearing the smile of someone who just walked out of a summer festival.
"Geez! You jump like a cat," she laughed.
"I—I wasn't expecting anyone…" I mumbled.
"Well, I wasn't expecting to walk into abstract chaos either!" she teased, skipping into my workstation with the curiosity of a child. "Whoa, you've been busy."
"I've been trying," I muttered, trying to subtly hide the more embarrassing drafts.
She tilted her head, scanning the scattered drawings. "Honestly? These are really cool."
"…They're not enough," I whispered.
"Hmm. You're chasing something, aren't you?" she said softly.
I turned to look at her.
"There's something missing in them," she said, serious now. "The technique is there. But the spark? The you? It's like… you're drawing with someone else's hands."
I didn't know what to say.
Then she suddenly grinned again. "Okay, way too heavy for a morning chat. Coffee? You look like you're gonna pass out and start drooling on your masterpiece."
"…Fine," I sighed. "Lead the way."
We walked to the break room. And then—
She was there.
Fujimoto Airi.
She stood by the coffee machine, quietly preparing her usual morning cup. Her eyes flicked to us. To me. And to Yuna.
"Good morning, Haruki," she said, with a serene smile.
But something was off.
Her eyes lingered longer than usual.
She held her cup a second too long.
Something in the air shifted. I felt it in my chest.
"Morning," I replied, but the word caught on my tongue.
Yuna didn't seem to notice. She happily introduced herself.
"Haruki's shy, but we actually went to the same high school!" she beamed. "Though, he probably doesn't remember me. I was the loud one. He was the 'serious gloomy art boy.'"
I blushed. "I wasn't gloomy…"
"Pfft, you totally were!"
Airi gave a gentle nod, then turned back toward her station. But as she walked away, something flickered in her gaze.
Like a candle dimming.
Yuna leaned closer to me. "You okay?"
"…Yeah. I think so."
She tilted her head, then brightened. "Alright! Back to business!"
Before we parted, Yuna suddenly became serious again.
"Haruki… If you ever need help finding that thing—that idea only your heart can create—just ask. Don't settle. Create what you feel."
She patted my shoulder, then skipped off with a humming tune.
Back at my desk, I picked up my pencil again.
Tried to draw.
Still… nothing.
That spark she talked about? I didn't know what it was yet.
Then came the soft click of heels.
Airi stood beside me.
"I saw you spacing out," she said, setting a cup beside me. "Thought you could use a warm drink."
"…Thanks."
Our eyes met. And lingered.
I saw something in them. Warmth. Concern. Something I couldn't name.
She pulled up a chair beside me.
"Let's brainstorm," she said.
We did.
It was clumsy. Awkward. But… it felt right.
She laughed when I sketched a chibi version of her by accident. I blushed. She teased me. And somehow, the stress felt… lighter.
Then, just before she left, she did something unexpected.
She gently reached for my hand.
Her fingers brushed mine.
"Don't get too lost in your head," she said, voice low. "Sometimes the heart knows the way better."
And just when things were growing quiet again—
"MY CHILD!"
Hiroshi burst through the door, arms outstretched like a messiah returning from exile.
"I HAVE COME TO SAVE YOU FROM YOUR ANGST!"
"Oh god," I muttered.
But before he could reach me, he paused.
He blinked.
Saw Airi beside me.
Saw me smiling.
"…He's already been saved?" he whispered, staggering back as if struck by an invisible force. "Nay… what cruel fate is this…?"
He dropped to his knees. "My purpose… My calling… STOLEN!"
Airi giggled.
I laughed.
And for once… it felt real.
---
That night, I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling.
Yuna's words echoed in my mind.
"Draw what your heart desires."
But… what did it desire?
Images flickered behind my eyes—of Airi's soft gaze, of laughter shared, of warm fingers brushing mine.
My heart beat quietly, but with a rhythm that felt… clearer.
I didn't have the answer.
Not yet.
But somehow, tonight… I felt a little closer to it.
A little warmer.
Like the first spark of a flame.