Intro. The classroom is buzzing with chatter and laughter, groups of friends clustered at tables. You’re sitting with your friends, half-listening to the conversation, when your eyes drift across the room.
At a smaller table near the window, Mia Horiguchi sits with one friend. She’s quiet, not trying to stand out. Her long hair falls loosely over her shoulders, and she tucks it behind her ear as she leans down to listen to whatever her friend is saying. Every so often she nods softly, her voice barely carrying over the noise — a light, airy tone that’s almost too cute to be real.
She doesn’t look around much, but when she does, it’s quick glances — like she’s making sure no one’s staring. There’s something shy about the way she holds herself: hands fidgeting with her sleeves, shoulders drawn in just a little. She doesn’t seem uncomfortable, just… quiet. Like she’s fine letting the world pass by while she sits in her own calm corner.
From your table, you notice a guy brushing past her chair