Yayoi Can't Keep a Secret

The spring breeze always seems to trouble me.

The wind blows the classroom curtains, guiding my gaze to the girl silently absorbed in the lesson at her window-side seat.

I have lost count of how many times this has happened, and my heart stirs each time she tucks her black hair behind her ear.

Here I am, resting my cheek on my hand, supposedly listening to the classical literature class, but watching the school's top beauty, Kinoshita.

Suddenly, as if sensing something, Kinoshita slowly turns around.

Our eyes meet, and she looks surprised. In the next moment, she furrows her brow and glares at me.

Out of awkwardness, I look away. Kinoshita quickly turns back to the front, tucking her hair behind her ear with an even more exaggerated motion.

I catch a brief glimpse of her ear, now flushed in soft red.

Satsuki Fukase, are you paying attention?

Uh, yes!

Startled by the teacher's sudden call, I respond with a shrill voice. Laughter echoes through the classroom as I quickly look down at my notebook.

As class went on in a dreamy haze, I pretended to read the textbook, as my thoughts continued to be consumed by Kinoshita.

What was it that I wanted, exactly?

Ever since we became classmates in our second year, I have found my eyes following her, during classes and breaks alike. But there was a reason for that.

Yayoi Kinoshita might like me.

This is a secret that only I know about her.

However, despite however close we may seem, it could not be further from the truth. Knowing her secret is what bars me from getting closer and only allows my expectations to build from afar.

Today is just another day where all I can do is wait and hope that something will happen.

All I can say is that these feelings, stirring inside me, are not just a result of the spring breeze.

Kinoshita is always by herself.

This is not just because today is the first day of our second year and we are in new classes.

Ever since our first year, Kinoshita has always had top scores on every test, and her athletic skills are also top-notch.

On top of that she is taller than average and has an amazing figure. Boys often look at her with envy while girls look at her with admiration.

There is a reason why such a perfect girl, blessed with both beauty and brains, is always alone.

It is Kinoshita herself that keeps others at arm's length.

She keeps communication with others to a minimum, and eye contact even less than that. She is always stone-faced, never smiling. Even when spoken to, Kinoshita will usually just ignore people. While it can be said that she is a cool beauty, it is more accurate to call her aloof and distant.

Rumors have started circulating like "She's so beautiful, it's scary" or "You'll get shot down just by approaching her" or "She's untouchable." It has gone to the extent that people claim she radiates a "back off" aura, and as a result, no one dares to approach her.

Even now, in a classroom buzzing with the excitement of making new friends, Kinoshita sits alone, reading her book. It seems like she is trying to fade into the background. However, her striking yet secluded figure is as entrancing as a William-Adolphe Bouguereau painting, and I cannot help but be drawn to her.

Satsuki, we should head to the gym soon.

Yeah, I'll be right there.

I got up from my seat after hearing my classmate calling me.

There is a reason why Kinoshita has my attention.

During our first year, we exchanged words once.

From that moment on, I simply could not stop thinking about her.

It is due to a secret that only I was able to hear from Kinoshita.

This took place six months ago at our Otomachi High School's festival, which was my first cultural festival in high school.

Otomachi High School has a culture of thoroughly enjoying events. The school's tradition has always been to have a great time at the cultural festival, even getting graduates and faculty involved.

By the afternoon, I had snuck off alone and was wandering around, looking through the exhibits in each classroom, after having been in the gymnasium from the morning for club presentations.

There was everything from the usual haunted houses and fashion shows to a class that had set up a beach house. A plastic pool had been brought into the classroom and boys and girls in swimsuits were playing around with water guns.

Although I was tempted to get into a swimsuit and join the festivities, my mood was not exactly upbeat, so I simply walked past them.

I wanted to be alone that day, and while searching for a place to unwind, I ended up at the large open portico of the school. There, at the heart of the cultural festival, food stalls were packed tightly together.

The scent of seared sauce wafted from the okonomiyaki stand, and a maid-themed crepe shop had a long line forming.

Step right up. Step right up.

This tastes amazing!

Amid the bustling lunchtime scene, I noticed a quiet stall standing alone in the corner.

It appeared to be a café, but there were no customers in sight. There was just one girl sitting inside the stall with her back to me.

Lured in by the smell of coffee, I figured this might be a good place to unwind and slowly approached.

Could I get a cup of coffee, please?

. . .

As I finished placing my order, the girl who seemed to be running the shop slammed the book she had been reading shut. Without saying a word, she began to grind the coffee beans with a hand mill.

Although the shop seemed impressively authentic, she never looked my way, not even to give me a word of acknowledgment.

I wanted solitude, but being ignored like this made me feel uneasy, and I felt the need to start a conversation.

This place is quite authentic.

. . .

Where do you get your coffee beans from?

. . .

Have you been managing the shop by yourself since this morning?

Yes . . . so what?

Her sharp retort took me by surprise, and I found myself falling silent.

She brewed the coffee with a hand drip in total silence, all the while consistently giving me the cold shoulder. I began to understand why there were not any customers.

Eventually, the rich aroma of coffee started to fill the air, and she turned around with a cup in her hand.

. . . !

I found myself doing a double take at the sight before me.

It was her, Yayoi Kinoshita.

Straight, semi-long black hair and mesmerizingly large black eyes.

She was tall and slender, her long limbs moving gracefully, like a model. Her apron hugged her waist and accentuated her stunning figure even more.

That will be 100 yen . . .

Kinoshita did not even look at me, her customer, and placed the paper cup on the table with an icy expression.

Uh . . .