The first day of college smelled of rain.
The sun hadn't quite decided whether it wanted to shine or not; clouds hung low, blurring the campus buildings into a watercolor haze. Students flooded through the iron gates, laughter echoing, the soft chatter of a thousand new beginnings filling the air.
Among them walked Miyako Takahashi — the girl everyone already knew.
Even before she spoke a word, heads turned. Her long, silky black hair gleamed faintly beneath the dull sky, her uniform perfectly neat, every motion graceful without effort. She smiled when people greeted her — that polite, measured smile of someone raised in perfection.
Daughter of a diplomat. Top of her class. Beautiful, talented, elegant.
Everyone wanted to be near her.
But no one was close to her.
Even as her classmates swarmed around her with friendly words and sparkling eyes, Miyako felt it — that quiet emptiness between laughter. The feeling of being admired, yet untouched. Of existing behind a pane of glass no one could cross.
She smiled anyway. That was what was expected of her.
---
A few buildings away, sitting under the shade of an old camphor tree, Aoi Nakamura was eating her breakfast — a piece of dry toast and a carton of milk.
Her shoes were worn. Her backpack, faded. Her hair tied up hastily in a short ponytail that barely managed to stay together. She looked like the kind of person who could disappear into a crowd and not be noticed — and she usually did.
People brushed past her without so much as a glance. She'd grown used to it.
In high school, she had learned that silence made life easier. If she didn't speak, no one mocked her. If she didn't hope, she couldn't be disappointed. So she learned to live quietly — invisible and unnoticed.
But even now, beneath that plain exterior, there was something she herself didn't recognize — a quiet, natural beauty, the kind that wasn't crafted but born from gentle eyes and soft smiles that rarely showed.
---
When Miyako entered the lecture hall, there was only one empty seat left — beside a girl with short hair and eyes the color of early morning rain.
Aoi looked up, startled, when Miyako approached.
"Is this seat taken?" Miyako asked, her voice as soft as wind over water.
Aoi blinked. "Ah—no, not at all."
Miyako smiled, setting her bag down. "Thank you."
That was all. Just two words exchanged.
But something strange lingered in the air — a quiet pulse neither could name.
Through the first lecture, Miyako found herself glancing sideways. The girl beside her took notes with surprising neatness, her handwriting small and disciplined. Occasionally, she'd tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear, unaware of how gentle the gesture looked.
When class ended, Miyako stood up slowly, unsure why she felt reluctant to leave.
The other girl stood too, gathering her things in silence. Then, as if compelled, Miyako spoke again.
"You… take very detailed notes."
Aoi froze, then turned, eyes wide. "Ah—thank you. I guess it's a habit."
"I'm Miyako Takahashi," Miyako said, holding out a hand. "Nice to meet you."
For a moment, Aoi simply stared at that hand. It was slender, perfect — the kind of hand that belonged to someone who'd never known hardship. She hesitated before taking it.
"Aoi," she murmured. "Aoi Nakamura."
Their hands met.
And in that instant, something warm and invisible passed between them — like the faint hum of an old melody rediscovered after years of silence.
---
Over the following weeks, they began to meet more often — at first by coincidence, later by choice.
Miyako found excuses to sit beside Aoi in class, to share notes, to walk with her to the cafeteria.
Aoi, though shy, found herself smiling more than she had in years. Miyako's presence was gentle — never demanding, never too close, just… there. Like sunlight through a window.
Once, during lunch, Miyako confessed softly, "You're easy to be around."
Aoi nearly choked on her rice. "E-easy?"
Miyako giggled quietly. "I mean it in a good way. You don't expect anything from me. Most people… do."
Aoi lowered her gaze. "I don't expect anything either. I'm just happy you talk to me at all."
That simple, honest sentence struck Miyako harder than she expected.
Happy that she talked to her?
No one had ever said that to her before.
---
By the time the semester reached midterms, their names were whispered together in corridors — "Takahashi and Nakamura."
People found it strange — that the perfect princess would spend her time with a quiet, invisible girl.
Rumors started. Some said Aoi was using Miyako for her popularity. Others claimed Miyako was trying to play "charity friend."
They ignored it.
Miyako, for the first time, didn't care what anyone thought.
And Aoi, for the first time, didn't feel alone.
---
One evening, after class, rain began to pour again. Miyako had forgotten her umbrella, and Aoi, hesitating, offered to share hers.
The two of them walked together under the small blue umbrella, shoulders brushing, silence filling the space between the raindrops.
Miyako could smell the faint scent of soap from Aoi's hair.
"Aoi," she murmured softly, "do you believe people meet for a reason?"
Aoi looked up at her, confused. "I'm not sure. Maybe… sometimes?"
Miyako smiled faintly, eyes distant. "I think meeting you feels like that. Like… I was meant to."
Aoi's heart skipped a beat.
She didn't answer. Couldn't. Her chest felt too full, her breath too tight. The sound of rain drowned everything except the quiet warmth of Miyako's shoulder beside hers.
---
They didn't know it then — but that night marked the beginning of something that would change both their worlds.
For Miyako, it was the first time she'd found someone who saw her, not the perfect image others adored.
For Aoi, it was the first time someone reached into her quiet world and refused to let her fade.
And from that fragile thread of connection…
Love would begin to bloom — gentle, hesitant, and utterly unstoppable.
---