The number above her head hadn't stopped glowing in my memory.
*100 days.*
It blinked behind my eyelids when I tried to sleep. It hovered in the steam of my breakfast the next morning. It clung to the corner of my vision as I walked to school beneath gray skies.
I told myself what I always did: *It's not my business. It never is.*
But my chest still felt heavy.
At school, I kept my head low. I wore my blurred lenses like a shield, the world reduced to hazy shapes and colorless shadows.
When I stepped into the classroom, I heard her voice before I saw anything.
"Morning, Kazuki!"
My name, spoken like it meant something. I flinched. Didn't reply. Just walked past her and sat down, facing the window.
Whispers bloomed around the room.
"She's talking to "him"?"
"Doesn't she know he's weird?"
"Maybe she didn't hear the rumors…"
But Hikari didn't seem to care. If she heard them, she didn't show it.
Third period came. Group activity.
My stomach sank the moment the teacher announced it.
It was always the same. That quiet, inevitable pause where everyone found someone… and I didn't.
Chairs scraped. Voices overlapped.
"Want to pair up?"
"Let's go together."
"Hey, over here—"
And then—
A shift.
The atmosphere subtly changed, like gravity had tilted toward a single point.
I didn't need to look to know.
Of course…
New, pretty, friendly.
People like that didn't stay alone for long.
Voices gathered around her desk almost instantly.
"Hikari, right? Want to work together?"
"You can join us if you want!"
"We already have notes, so it'll be easy—"
Laughter. Easy smiles. The kind of warmth people gave so naturally to someone like her.
I lowered my gaze to my desk.
This is how it always goes.
People are drawn to light.
And I—
I had long since stepped out of it.
For a moment, I thought that would be the end of it.
That she'd laugh softly, pick someone, and disappear into the noise like everyone else.
But then—
"I'll go with Kazuki."
The words cut cleanly through the room.
Silence followed.
It wasn't loud. It wasn't dramatic.
But it was complete.
I looked up.
Even through the blur of my lenses, I could feel it—the weight of every gaze snapping in my direction. Confusion. Disbelief. A few poorly hidden looks of annoyance.
"…Him?" someone muttered under their breath.
I didn't react.
Didn't say anything.
Because honestly… I didn't understand it either.
The teacher clapped her hands, breaking the tension. "Alright, looks like pairs are decided. Go ahead and start."
Just like that, it was over.
Or at least… it should have been.
When she sat down beside me, she leaned in slightly, her voice softer now.
"Sorry," she whispered. "Did I make things weird?"
I shook my head faintly. "It was already weird."
She blinked—then laughed.
Not awkwardly. Not forced.
Just… naturally.
"I guess that's true."
She opened her notebook, flipping to a clean page. "Let's do this before they give us more work."
For a while, we worked in relative quiet.
Well—
She worked.
I answered when needed. Short. Simple. Enough to get by.
"You don't talk much, huh?" she said after a minute, glancing sideways at me.
"I talk when I have to."
"Mm. Efficient." She nodded like she approved. "I respect that."
I didn't respond.
But she didn't seem bothered.
If anything, she just kept going.
"That's okay. I talk enough for both of us."
A laugh escaped her lips, light and unbothered. Then her expression shifted. More thoughtful.
"I talk too much sometimes," she added. "My friends used to tell me that all the time."
"Used to?"
She paused for a second.
Then smiled. "Yeah. Used to."
Before I could think about it, she shifted the topic.
"Oh, do you like music?" she asked. "I've been listening to this one song nonstop lately—"
She started rambling—about songs, shows, random things that didn't matter.
And somehow… it didn't feel as exhausting as it should have.
Then—
I felt it.
Not a sound. Not a movement.
Just… attention.
A quiet kind of presence, resting on me.
I kept writing, slow and deliberate, the scratch of my pen the only thing grounding me. But the feeling didn't go away.
If anything, it grew heavier.
…She was staring.
I could tell without looking.
People usually stopped after a few seconds.
She didn't.
Five seconds.
Ten.
Still there.
What is she doing…?
My hand slowed.
Then stopped.
I lifted my head slightly.
Our eyes met.
She froze.
For a split second, she didn't react at all—like she hadn't expected to be caught. Then, almost immediately, she straightened up, brushing a strand of her blue hair behind her ear.
"Ah—sorry," she said quickly, a small, awkward smile forming. "I didn't mean to stare."
I blinked once. "…Then why were you?"
She hesitated.
Her eyes flickered briefly toward mine—then, more noticeably, toward my eyes themselves.
"You really do wear lenses, huh…" she murmured, almost to herself.
I stiffened slightly.
"…Yeah."
There was a short pause.
Then she waved her hands lightly, as if realizing how that sounded.
"No, no, it's not like that," she said, laughing a little to cover it. "It's just—"
She stopped.
For a moment, her expression shifted. Not nervous… just thoughtful.
She glanced at me again, more carefully this time.
Then she said it plainly:
"Some girls told me not to talk to you."
My hand paused over the page.
"They said you're weird," she continued lightly. "That you hide behind those lenses. That you never look anyone in the eye."
I kept my eyes on the page. "And you believed them?"
"Nope."
The answer came instantly.
"I don't like people who judge others without trying to understand them."
A small pause.
Then, softer—
"Besides… I think weird is more interesting."
That made me stop.
Just for a second.
"You don't even know me," I said.
"Not yet."
Her voice was gentle now. Certain. "But I want to."
I didn't have an answer for that.
So I stayed quiet.
By the end of the activity, we'd finished early. She talked about music, old childhood cartoons, her favorite kind of ice cream. I gave short answers, but she didn't seem to mind carrying the conversation.
There was still time left in the period.
She leaned back slightly, stretching her arms.
"You know," she said, glancing at me, "you look like someone who's carrying something heavy."
My grip tightened on my pen.
I didn't respond.
Didn't trust myself to.
But she didn't push.
She just looked at me—
Not with curiosity.
Not with pity.
Just… quietly.
"It's okay," she said softly. "I like people who carry quiet things."
That night, I sat at my desk with a blank page open in front of me.
I reached into the drawer and pulled out an old notebook. The one I hadn't touched in months.
I flipped past names I tried to forget. People whose numbers I watched drop to zero.
Then I wrote:
"Hikari Tachibana – 100 days – Day 2."
She had 99 days left.
I stared at the page for a long time. My hand hovered over the line. I almost crossed it out.
But I didn't.
I closed the book, shoved it back in the drawer, and leaned back.
"I should stay away from her."