The first time she had seen him, she had raised an eyebrow at his silly smile and at his casual wave.
Her mind had not yet opened up to the possibility of his being, and she lacked the will to reciprocate his enthusiasm. Instead, she ignored him, and simply looked away.
The second time she had seen him, he had done the exact same, as if her earlier actions had had no impact on him.
She briefly looked over him, wondering why, and offered him a nod of the head, though no words were exchanged. She didn't care to see his smile as he watched her sit at the desk across from him.
The fifth time she had seen him, she had accepted his proposition to sit closer to her, and watched him shuffle his desk towards hers until they almost touched.
He extended a hand, asked for the permission to call her his friend, and she simply shrugged it off with a nonchalant mutter, asking him to just call her by name.
As days arrived and days departed, she learned to smile at his every word, and to wonder why he had decided to befriend her. She kept her growing feelings bottled up inside, sealed away somewhere in her chest, and simply imagined that these days would carry on for as long as she allowed them to.
The twentieth time she had seen him, he had been clutching at his chest, struggling for a breath to keep him alive.
She held him as she cried for help, and she held him as they took him away. Only once they had informed her that he was well and asleep had she realized that the wet rivers streaming down her face were her own tears.
She visited him the next day, and she couldn't stop her heartbeat from reasoning inside her head as she glanced at his smile, present and never to be gone. She touched his arm and felt herself weaken as he looked at her puffy eyes, telling her that he was alright, apologizing for worrying her.
The fiftieth time she had seen him, she anxiously twirled strands of her hair between her fingers, and she exclaimed a flustered greeting as he opened the door, welcoming him back to class.
She spent the day asking him if he felt alright, to which he simply smiled and nodded at, not hesitating for even a second. His feelings were contagious, and she soon stopped worrying, reasoning that, after all, he wouldn't lie to her.
The hundredth time she had seen him, she had greeted him enthusiastically. Her heart sang as he praised her for not being late, and she felt light as she watched him draw a well-known scene.
She had accepted his offer to walk her home, and they had stopped to watch the clouds, whispering laughs as if sharing a childish romance.
The second-hundredth time she had seen him, she felt herself uneasy. She wanted his attention, a desire which she wanted to claim unfamiliar. She wanted him to tell her sweeter words than usual, to brush against her hand in an accidental way, to whisper her that she was special to him.
She kept those wants locked away alongside her other feelings, and distanced herself without meaning to, refusing to respond to his concerned expression.
She lost track of time, and, as summer came, she found herself meeting him once again. She silently and detestably thanked his condition for making him have to take extra classes alongside her, and she felt happier than ever, her bad grades comforting her into asking him for help.
She felt herself getting hurt as he insisted that she needed to work, that she shouldn't let herself be distracted. Did he not want to talk to her? Did she bore him? Had he been meaning to leave her, but, feeling pity, decided to stay?
The last time she had seen him, she had turned her head away, blasting a song through her headphones. Her mind pleaded him to pay attention to her, to notice her, to hug her and apologize for making her feel this way. After all, this was all his fault, wasn't it? All of her feelings had been caused because of him.
As she waited, thoughts and questions running inside of her head and banging against her chest, she counted the number of songs that she played, measuring the time she had spent ignoring him, her whole body turned away from him.
After the fifth song had ended, she lowered the volume of the music. The room was silent, and she felt her heart sink as she imagined him leaving the classroom -and her- behind. She waited for a few seconds, then held her breath, turning her head around to where he had been sitting before.
In that moment, she forgot how to speak. He was immobile- sitting on his chair, his head angled towards his desk, his mouth open. She couldn't hear anything from him- not a word, not a wheeze, not a breath. Her eyes blurred with tears as she stood up, not caring whether or not the back of her chair hit the floor under her. Or was the floor above her? Her head was spinning as she choked back a cry, advancing quickly towards the boy.
She shook him, calling his name once, twice. She touched his cold hands and she froze, feeling as if the only source of heat in this room was her hot tears, running down to meet the corners of her mouth- mouth which opened and closed with pathetic cries, his name rolling around on her tongue.
She cried for help desperately, yelling at the top of her lungs, half hoping for him to wake up. She held him close, this scene familiar to her- but she knew that this time, it wouldn't end as happily.
She had waited too long- she had bottled up her feelings and had blamed him for them, and when he had needed her most, she hadn't helped him. She had focused her attention on anything but him. She had been childish, foolish, idiotic- and now, there was nothing else she could do.
She cried for him to forgive her, her shaking fingers touching his cheek. She cried out his name again as her teacher arrived in the classroom, taking the boy away from her. She cried that it was all her fault as she held her head in her hands, her whole world becoming dark.
Sitting alone in the classroom, her tears bouncing off of the corners of the eyes as her head spun, she cried, and cried, a sentence escaping the corners of her lips softly, the words choking out one after the other.
"Haruka… I love you…"