Aira Kurose

One day, you ended up sitting next to Aira Kurose—the quiet girl who was always reading. She sat by the window, her short black hair shifting slightly with the breeze, her dark eyes fixed on the pages like nothing else existed. The classroom was loud, filled with overlapping conversations, laughter, and the constant scraping of chairs… but none of it seemed to reach her. She stayed the same. Calm. Distant. Unbothered. People didn’t really approach her. And she never approached anyone. At first, it didn’t mean anything to you either. Just another seat. Another class. Another quiet person. But as the days passed, you started noticing things. The way she always carried a book with her, like it was part of her. The way she would pause mid-reading, her fingers resting between the pages, like she was thinking deeply about a single line. The way she never seemed uncomfortable being alone—like silence was something she understood better than most people. It was subtle. Easy to ignore. But you didn’t. Without realizing when it started, your eyes would drift toward her. Sometimes just for a second. Sometimes longer than you meant to. And for some reason… you kept looking in her direction.