I used to think high school would feel like freedom. New uniforms, new hallways, new faces. A fresh start.
But I was wrong.
Hoshigawa High is a place where the pretty shine, the loud echo, and the invisible remain invisible. I don't think anyone ever said my name out loud in class until the teacher handed back our midterms last week and whispered, "Perfect score again, Sayuri. " A few heads turned. Most turned back.
That was the end of it.
I'm sixteen. I'm quiet. I don't have any scars on my skin, but I think I might be bleeding somewhere under it. You wouldn't know. I smile when someone bumps into me. I apologize when someone else drops their pen. I vanish into the spaces between other people's stories.
Every day is a routine. Wake up at 6:30. Breakfast alone. School by 7:50. Sit near the window. Avoid Kaori and her orbit of glossy lips and cruel eyes. Ignore Asami's snickers and her fake "accidental" shoulder bumps.
I used to think maybe someone would save me. I don't think that anymore. I'm not the main character. I'm background noise.
There's one boy everyone talks about: Souta Ren.
He's the kind of perfect you'd think only exists in dramas. Messy brown hair that somehow always looks great. A grin that makes girls forget their own names. He's good at sports, better at tests, and flawless at pretending to be everyone's best friend.
But that's all it is pretend. I see it.
His two closest "friends," Itsuki and Yuto, are snakes with expensive shoes and sharp laughs. I overheard them once in the hallway.
"If we hang around Ren, we stay on top. Simple."
They don't like him. They like the light he gives off. They want to bask in it, like moths pretending to be butterflies.
But Ren doesn't push them away. He plays along. Smiles. Laughs. Nods.
I wonder why.
"Look out, floor cleaner," Asami muttered this morning as I passed her near the lockers. She said it just loud enough for Kaori to hear, and they both laughed like it was the height of comedy.
I kept walking. You get used to that kind of stuff.
Kaori used to sit behind me in class last year. I think the hatred started when she caught Souta glancing in my direction one too many times. He wasn't even looking at me. I just happened to be in the way.
That was all it took.
Now I'm the weird girl. The "know it all," the "sad little Misaki."
And maybe they're not wrong. I go home to an empty apartment. My mom works nights at a hospital. My dad moved across the ocean last year with his new wife and sent me an emoji on my birthday.
My only friend used to be my cat, Luna. She died last spring. Since then, I've filled the silence with old books and the steady ticking of the wall clock.
It's Saturday.
I should be studying, but I left the house instead.
I don't even know why. Something about the air felt less heavy today, or maybe I just wanted to be somewhere no one knew me. I wandered for an hour before my legs decided for me.
I ended up at Café Soleil a tiny coffee shop tucked between a convenience store and a pharmacy.
It smells like roasted beans and vanilla. The bell above the door jingled softly when I walked in.
The place is quiet, cozy, the kind of space where secrets might sit beside you in the next booth and whisper kindly. I slid into a seat near the back and pulled out a notebook, mostly to look like I had a reason to exist.
And then I heard his voice.
"Good afternoon. What can I get you?"
I looked up.
Souta Ren stood behind the counter.
Not in his usual Hoshigawa uniform, but in a black apron over a simple white tee. His hair was a little messy, not styled. There was a faint sweat line on his forehead, and his hands looked busy and real not the smooth gestures of popularity, but the small, tired movements of someone who had been on their feet for hours.
He didn't see me at first. He was drying a mug with the focus of someone who wanted to do it right.
But then he looked up. And paused.
For a second, I thought he wouldn't say anything. That maybe the same rules applied outside of school that I would stay invisible.
But then he smiled.
A real smile. Not the practiced, dazzling kind I'd seen in the hallway. This one was smaller. Softer. The kind you give a familiar ghost.
"Sayuri… Misaki, right?"
My breath hitched. He knew my name.
"Yeah," I said, too quietly.
He nodded once. "I thought so. You're really good at math, right?"
That wasn't what I expected him to say. Or to remember. But somehow, that made it feel even more real.
"I guess," I said.
He smiled again. "Cool. I suck at it."
I blinked.
He looked at me for a moment longer, then asked, "Want something warm? First drink's on the house. It's slow today."
"Um… sure. Latte?"
"Coming up."
He turned and started preparing it, his movements smooth and quiet. Not awkward, not stiff. Just… kind.
I watched the way he worked. Calm, practiced. I realized this wasn't some part-time job he complained about. He liked it here.
No cameras. No fake friends. No expectations.
Just coffee and silence and space to breathe.
He brought the cup over gently, placing it in front of me with a small smile. "Here you go."
"Thank you," I said, and for once, my voice didn't sound empty.
He started to walk away, then paused. "Hey… do you come here often?"
"No. First time."
He nodded slowly. "You should come more. It suits you."
Before I could answer, he turned back toward the counter.
And just like that, my day changed.