I like the sound of the rain. Not too loud, just steady, like it's trying to say something. Sometimes, I imagine the rain has its own little conversations with the ground, soft and quiet, like a secret only they know. It's peaceful, in a way. I like that.
I like lively crowds. The noise makes the atmosphere breathable. Alive. It makes me feel better.
I like the sound of the train as it passes by—the metal against the rails, fading into the distance.
I like my friends. They're the ones that make me who I am.
I like the blue spring. It is calm and refreshing.
I like the sky. It stretches on forever.
I like the sun. Warm and bright, always shining, even behind the clouds.
If I were a color, I guess I'd be white. It goes with everything—school uniforms, flowers, the clouds in the sky. Even the light—the sun. White reflects light around it. It helps other people shine.
That's the essay I turned in.
It was the second one. The first one, well… I crumpled it up and tossed it in the trash. It just didn't feel right. It felt like I was trying too hard to say something that didn't come naturally. I wanted to be honest, and sometimes honesty doesn't sound all pretty and polished.
The paper made a soft rustle as I balled it up. Outside, the sky was gray. The hallway hummed with the soft shuffle of slippers—students rushing to clubs, teachers sipping lukewarm tea. Peaceful? Maybe. Or just… empty.
I walked toward the window. Normally, it's sunny around this time.
Whoosh.
Wind swept past, and right then—
A paper airplane looped like a clumsy sparrow—too earnest to crash, too awkward to soar. Like it wasn't just floating around—it was on a mission.
"Eh? Where'd you come from?" I blinked.
It fluttered, wobbled, then landed close by. My legs moved before I could think.
I picked it up.
The paper was crumpled, squished like someone really meant to throw it away. But instead of landing in the trash, it took flight. And then, landed in front of me.
The words were barely readable—like they were fading, but still holding on. Like they didn't want to disappear just yet.
I tilted my head. "This is… an essay?"
There were scribbles. Crossed-out lines. And a bright red note glared from the margin:
"You have to enjoy youth while you can!"
Ms. Mitsuki probably wrote this one.
My eyes caught a name scratched faintly across the bottom.
Ichijo Hotaka.
Oh—he's in my class. The guy next to me.
Kinda quiet. Stares out windows a lot.
"This was from Mitsuki-sensei's assignment, huh…" I mumbled, holding the paper carefully.
"Associate yourself with something you like or hate. Then turn it into a color—what are you?"
Funny.
Mine talked about the atmosphere, the sky, people, the weather.
And so did his.
But the difference is, this one… felt real.
Like it wasn't trying to sound nice. It's like…trying not to impress anyone. It's just real.
Just honest. Quiet, moody, like the Ichijo way.
I laughed. "He probably threw this because Ms. Mitsuki didn't want how the essay was written."
When I turned in mine, all she could say was, "You're a cheerful girl, aren't you?"
I grinned. Cheerful. The word buzzed in my ears like a trapped fly. "Yeah," I said to no one. "Totally."
I folded the essay tighter, edges biting into my palm. "Just curious," I told myself, but my thumb kept tracing his name—Ichijo Hotaka—like a Braille secret.
Sure, just curious.
As I passed the teacher's office, I found myself thinking—maybe I should ask Ms. Mitsuki for help.
I went to the teacher's office.
Ichijo's essay in hand.
Not to turn it in.
Not really.
More like… I needed to talk. Needed someone to tell me something I already knew but didn't want to believe. Something personal—girl problems, maybe.
I was looking for her.
But Mitsuki-sensei found me first.
"Oh, Ao," she said with a soft smile. "Still here?"
I flinched. "Ms. Mitsuki?" I held up the paper like it was a reason.
She raised an eyebrow. "What's that?"
I handed it to her. "Ichijo's essay," I mumbled.
She took it gently and scanned the first few lines. "Ah… Ichijo. He's always been like this."
"Like what?" I asked, even though I thought I already knew.
She smiled faintly, as if remembering something. "He's not expressive. Not outwardly. But inside? His thoughts are… deep. Sharp. Sometimes too sharp for a boy his age." She tilted her head slightly. "They're not easy to explain, but they're there."
"…What do you mean?"
Mitsuki-sensei paused, her smile dimming. "Ichijo sees the world differently. He always has. But then again, so do most people."
"He just… seeks his own kind of comfort," she said. "And for him, that's solitude."
She glanced at me. "It's not that he wants to be alone. It's just that being alone doesn't bother him like it bothers others."
I stayed quiet.
"He's proof that you don't have to 'fit in' to be okay," she said, adjusting the wilting daisy in her vase.
The petals trembled as she spoke.
"That happiness isn't always loud or shared."
I looked down, voice barely a whisper. "Wait… he really thinks that's okay?"
Sensei looked at me gently. "Isn't that why you're here?"
I didn't respond.
She reached out and gave me three soft pats on the shoulder. Comforting. Quiet. Not too much.
"Ao," she said, turning to glance out the window. The sky outside was gray. "Sometimes, you don't need to force your way in. Sometimes… you just need to find someone who sees the world a little like you do."
Then she turned back to me. "Not that I've figured out fitting in, either."
I blinked. "So what do you do?"
"I just try to help people see someone else who might understand." Her smile was smaller now. A little sad, maybe. "Sometimes that's enough."
I looked back down at the paper in her hand.
"You think Ichijo would understand?"
She smiled, eyes soft with certainty
"He's not the first to find solace in solitude," she said, as she hands me the paper. "The ones who think they're alone in feeling alone."
"But he's probably dealt with it more than they did, and I did."
…The crowd—their laughter clattered like loose change—bright, loud, worthless. I smiled until my cheeks ached.
"Ao?" someone called out—"Hey, Ao??"
My senses finally came back. "I'm sorry, I was spacing out…"
"Well, anyways—"
"Did you guys see the photo she posted? Filters can't save that haircut."
Laughter.
I smiled too. Of course I did. That's what I do.
We were sitting under the tree near the courtyard, legs crossed, bentos open, talking about everything and nothing.
"Hey, Ao. You've been kinda quiet today."
"Huh? Really? Am I?" I tried to keep my voice light.
Another girl tilted her head. "You sure? You've been acting kinda weird lately. Like… not yourself."
Weird?
"I mean," someone else added, "you're still smiling and all, but… I dunno. Something feels off about you."
Off?
Their eyes were on me now. Waiting.
And in that second, all I wanted to say was: Wearing a mask is pretty tiring, you know?
But I didn't.
Instead, I said, "Sorry. I'm probably just hungry."
They didn't seem convinced.
"Do you even want to hang out with us?" one of them asked.
That stung more than I thought it would.
"What kind of question is that?" I forced a laugh.
But inside, I wondered if I even wanted to be here.
Lunchtime passed quickly. After that exchange, we talked like usual. Same stories. Same laughs. Girly conversations, you know that? We laughed and talked to each other like it was the end of lunch. Not the world, just lunch.
But still—inside, it felt like I was being pushed out. By them—myself. It's like when you want to join a group photo, but it doesn't capture you, you know?
I'm laughing, but it felt like I'm sitting outside the joke.
…
"When you take that and divide it by here…"
Mathematics. What, you thought I was an airhead? Too bad, I'm not. I'm smart, but I choose not to be just to fit in with everyone.
Ichijo.
Sitting beside me, near to the window.
He's looking outside. Playing with his pencil, textbook closed. He's not paying attention at all.
This is why he's a loner. Not paying attention—not just lessons, but other people. His surroundings.
I look at the ceiling, slightly tilted my head so that I won't be seen not paying attention.
I wonder how he's living like that…
Completely alone, even while surrounded. Like it's just… normal for him, you know?
The day passed by. The chalk marks left on the board, not properly erased. The pen mark on the back of my notebook. They're all just a part of the day. Nothing special—of course.
After class. We were all going home, bags on our backs, hanging on our shoulders. One of my friends approach the group, and would suggest we go somewhere.
"Let's go karaoke!"
I raised my hand with a smile. "I'll go!"
Energetic voice, practiced tone. It's totally me.
This—I wonder when this became "normal" to me. Hanging out with people. Wanting to be part of the group.
I wonder why?
Is it because I enjoy it? Not really. There's nothing fun in pretending.
But I guess I'd get Ichijo syndrome if I didn't.
And then a wild Ichijo appeared. Like an NPC… or something that everyone just walks by. Ignored and left out.
I spotted him at the end of the hall, walking to his locker. Alone and quiet. Same old Ichijo.
He didn't hesitate, didn't slow down.
Just… walked. Like noise didn't touch him.
I watched from behind the crowd, their voices bubbling around me. He was a blur past all the chatter.
Still, I saw him.
It's funny because it's ironic. He's someone you wouldn't notice right away, but I guess for someone like me, it would be different.
He's the one people overlook, but somehow, I keep noticing him.
"He'll understand better, huh?" I mumbled.
I still don't really get what sensei meant.
But maybe…
"Ao? You said something?"
I blinked. "Huh? Oh—nothing." I laughed.
"Just wondering why dandelions are called 'tanpopo.'"
Total nonsense, of course. But it's the kind of thing a goofy, cheerful girl like me would say.
"What's that? That's so random."
"Yeah, but kinda cute."
Same laughs. Same chatter.
Like always.
We passed the playground on the way.
It looked kinda nice—the swings creaking, the sand smooth under the fading light.
A place I'd probably like more than karaoke. But, you know, not in front of the others.
I can just laugh at myself for fitting in. It's tough, you know? But it's not better than being alone. Not fitting in is tougher.
I could only watch the sky as the sun goes down. The orange sky and the golden sun. I wrote about them once. In the first essay. The one I threw away.