The sky above Tokyo was a muted orange, as if the sun itself was unsure whether to stay or leave.
Hina Aoyama stood on the platform with one hand wrapped tightly around the strap of her suitcase. The other clutched her phone, though the screen had gone dark minutes ago. She hadn't noticed.
People moved around her in practiced rhythms — footsteps, voices, rolling luggage. all of it blending into a background hum that made her feel oddly detached, like she was watching the world through glass.
So this is it, she thought.
A month earlier, her new high school had sent a letter confirming her transfer. Because the daily commute from her hometown was impossible, the school counselor had recommended a nearby boarding house that often accepted students living alone.
Since then, the address had stayed folded neatly inside Hina's bag, checked again and again whenever doubt crept in.
Her mother's voice echoed in her head.
"You'll be fine, Hina. You've always been independent."
Akiko Aoyama had smiled when she said it — soft, encouraging — but there was distance behind her eyes. There always was. Since the divorce, emotions in their house had become quieter, more controlled, as if expressing too much might cause something else to leave.
Hina adjusted her grip on the suitcase and stepped onto the train.
After several turns and a brief moment of getting lost, she finally found it.
The boarding house stood on a quiet street, tucked between a small bakery and a narrow lane lined with potted plants. It wasn't large or flashy — just a two-story building with pale walls and a modest wooden sign.
Morita Boarding House.
The sky above it had shifted to gray.
Hina hesitated at the gate.
Just ring the bell, she told herself. It's not a big deal.
She rang it anyway — once, then again when nothing happened.
The door slid open with a soft sound.
A woman stepped out, wiping her hands on an apron. Her eyes immediately moved to Hina's suitcase, then to her nervous expression, and her face brightened with recognition.
"Oh! You must be Hina Aoyama," she said warmly. "Your mother called to say you'd arrive this afternoon."
Hina blinked in surprise.
"I'm Sachiko Morita," the woman added with a gentle smile. "Welcome. You must be tired from the trip."
"I— yes. Thank you," Hina said, bowing quickly.
Sachiko stepped aside. "Come in. Kenji! She's here."
Inside, the house smelled faintly of tea and polished wood. Shoes were lined neatly by the entrance. It felt lived-in, but calm.
A man appeared from the hallway — Mr. Kenji Morita. He nodded once, his expression gentle but reserved.
"Welcome," he said simply.
That was all — but somehow, it felt enough.
As Hina slipped off her shoes, laughter echoed from somewhere deeper in the house.
"Did someone new move in?" a loud voice called.
A tall boy leaned around the corner, grinning openly. "Whoa, she's real."
"Yuta," Sachiko said sharply.
"What? I just meant—" He straightened immediately, rubbing the back of his neck with an awkward laugh. "Welcome! I didn't think you'd arrive this early."
He stepped forward and offered an easy smile.
"I'm Yuta Nishikawa. I live here too."
Hina hesitated for a second before bowing politely.
"Hina Aoyama… nice to meet you."
"Relax," Yuta said lightly. "You don't have to be so formal. We're basically housemates now."
Sachiko sighed softly. "Yuta, at least let her come inside before overwhelming her."
"Right, right," he said, stepping aside quickly. "Sorry. First impressions aren't exactly my strength."
A girl stepped out behind him, arms crossed, eyes sharp and curious.
"Aya Nishikawa " she said. "Ignore him."
Aya studied Hina carefully — not rudely, just… deeply. Hina had the strange feeling that this girl was already noticing things she hadn't said.
"I'm Hina," she replied softly.
"Your room's ready," Sachiko said. "Second floor, end of the hall."
As they climbed the stairs, Hina noticed another presence near the living room — a boy sitting quietly by the window, headphones on, gaze turned toward the fading sky.
He didn't look up.
His black hair fell slightly into his eyes. His posture was relaxed, but distant — like someone used to being unnoticed.
Another resident, Hina thought.
She passed without a word.
But just before she reached the top step, the boy's eyes lifted briefly.
Their gazes met.
It was only a second.
His eyes were calm. Observant. Not curious — just aware.
Then he looked away.
Hina's heart gave a small, unexpected flutter.
She frowned slightly, as if confused by her own reaction.
Her room was simple — a bed, desk, window facing the street. When Sachiko left her to unpack, the quiet settled in.
Hina sat on the bed, hands folded in her lap.
I'll get used to this, she told herself. I always do.
She opened her phone.
No new messages.
Her father's contact name sat untouched in her list.
She locked the screen.
Outside, the sky deepened into gray.
And downstairs, a boy sat by the window, listening to music he wasn't really hearing — thinking about the girl who had just moved in, and wondering why her expression had looked so much like someone trying not to disappear.
Dinner at the Morita boarding house was quieter than Hina expected — not silent, but gently paced, like everyone knew when to speak and when to let the sounds of chopsticks and bowls fill the gaps.
Hina sat near the corner of the low dining table, her knees tucked neatly beneath her skirt. Steam rose from the miso soup in front of her, fogging her glasses for a moment before clearing again.
Across from her, Yuta ate noisily, completely unbothered.
"So," he said between mouthfuls, "new girl. Which school?"
Hina swallowed quickly. "Sakuragaoka High."
"Oh! Same as us," Yuta said cheerfully. "Except Aya. She's still in middle school."
Aya rolled her eyes. "I go to school, not a circus."
Sachiko laughed softly as she set down a plate of grilled fish. "Hina will be starting tomorrow, right?"
"Yes," Hina nodded. "Second year."
"That means same grade," Yuta said. "You'll like it. Probably."
Hina smiled politely.
She felt someone's gaze on her.
She glanced up.
The quiet boy from earlier sat slightly apart, eating slowly. His movements were unhurried and calm. When their eyes met again, he didn't look away this time — just inclined his head slightly, acknowledging her presence.
"Itsuki Minato," he said.
His voice was calm. Low. Not cold — just restrained.
"Hina Aoyama," she replied quickly.
There was a pause.
"Welcome," Itsuki added.
That was all.
No smile. No extra words.
Yet somehow, the simplicity of it settled comfortably in her chest.
Later that night, Hina stood at her window, watching the streetlights flicker on one by one. The sky had darkened completely, clouds swallowing the last traces of colour.
She unpacked slowly, carefully folding clothes into drawers as if order might make the unfamiliar feel safer.
Her phone buzzed.
Mom: Did you arrive safely?
Hina typed her reply.
Hina: Yes. The boarding house is nice.
She hesitated, then added:
Everyone seems kind.
Akiko replied instantly.
Mom: Good. Remember, you don't have to rely on anyone.
Hina stared at the message.
She locked the phone and placed it face-down on the desk.
Outside her door, soft footsteps passed — then stopped.
A knock!
Hina's breath caught.
She opened the door slowly.
Aya stood there, holding a towel and a small bottle.
"You forgot these in the bathroom," Aya said. "First-day nerves do that."
"Oh— thank you," Hina said, embarrassed.
Aya tilted her head. "You don't talk much."
"I'm just… not good at first impressions."
"Mm," Aya said. "You're the type who listens more than you speak."
Hina blinked. "Is that bad?"
Aya shrugged. "Depends who's talking."
She turned to leave, then paused.
"The quiet one," she added casually. "He listens too."
Before Hina could ask who she meant, Aya walked away.
The next morning arrived wrapped in pale gray light.
Hina descended the stairs early, her uniform crisp, her hair neatly tied. The kitchen was already occupied.
Itsuki stood by the counter, pouring hot water into a mug. He glanced up briefly.
"Morning."
"Good morning," Hina replied.
The silence that followed wasn't awkward — just… present.
She poured herself tea, standing a careful distance away.
"You're starting today," Itsuki said, not looking at her.
"Yes."
"Sakuragaoka can be overwhelming at first."
"I'll manage."
He nodded once. "If you get lost, follow the crowd."
That earned a small smile from her — fleeting, but real.
Yuta burst in moments later, instantly filling the space with noise.
"You two look like strangers in a waiting room," he laughed. "Come on, Aya's already outside."
Sakuragaoka High loomed large and familiar to some, intimidating to others.
Hina walked through the gates with measured steps, her gaze forward, heart beating just a little too fast.
Whispers floated past her.
"New student?"
"She's cute."
"Which class?"
She pretended not to hear.
Inside the classroom, Mr. Sakamoto adjusted his glasses and gestured for her to stand at the front.
"This is Aoyama Hina. She'll be joining us."
Hina bowed. "Nice to meet you."
A few friendly murmurs followed.
She scanned the room instinctively — and found Itsuki seated by the window, eyes focused outside, as if the sky held answers no one else could see.
A seat was empty beside him.
Her breath caught.
Coincidence, she told herself.
She sat down quietly.
Throughout the morning, she noticed small things.
Itsuki wrote neatly, rarely raising his hand.
Takumi Endo leaned over occasionally, whispering something that earned a faint nod.
At lunch, Mio Shiraishi approached her with a bright smile.
"You must be Hina! Sit with us!"
Mio's energy was warm, open — the kind that filled spaces easily. Kenta Fujimori joined them shortly after, charming and confident, his attention lingering on Hina longer than necessary.
Across the courtyard, Itsuki sat alone, eating quietly.
Their eyes met again.
Just for a moment.
And for reasons she didn't understand yet, Hina felt something shift — subtle, unspoken — like the sky changing colour without warning.
That evening, as the boarding house settled into its familiar hush, Hina sat on the steps outside, watching clouds drift slowly overhead.
Itsuki stepped out moments later, hands in his pockets.
"The sky looks heavy," he said.
"Yes," Hina replied. "Like it's holding something back."
He considered that.
"Sometimes it does."
They stood there, side by side, saying nothing more.
And in that quiet, something began — not love, not yet — but the fragile beginning of awareness.
Of presence.
Of two people learning how not to look away.