sweetness: the quality of being pleasing or delightful


Tall window panes allowed the midday sun to access the unlit corridor. The route to 1A felt longer than usual. The stack of textbooks in her hand weighed her body down like a sack of bricks.

In hindsight, it had not been her best idea to go to school today. Her stride faltered; a wave of what felt like electricity would shoot up her spine every time she took a step. Balancing her books precariously on her right hand, her other reached up to massage the sharp pains in her temple, reducing it to a dull throb. Eru could only hope that she did not look as bad as she felt.

Placing her study materials roughly onto the table, Eru sank down into her seat. She glanced briefly at her reflection on her phone screen – her face looked drawn and tired. This morning, she had tried without success to conceal the dark shadows beneath her eyes.

It was getting harder to fall asleep at night.


It was difficult for him to understand her.

With her quick, albeit shy smiles and her gentle nature, it was easy to see why people around her could open up so easily. What they failed to notice was that she did not let her guard down similarly. Eru, he realised, often unconsciously convinced people that they were close to her. If they took time to reflect, it would dawn on them that they knew next to nothing about her. He was no exception.

Seijuro knew the basics, of course. Her favourite subject was physics and she often made it known to him that she despised geography. She liked pastel colours, but she did not have a particular preference. She enjoyed reading and writing, hence, she spent most of her free time in school indulging in those activities. But everything else remained shrouded in mystery. He knew nothing about her family or her personal life, because she never spoke of it.

Amongst everyone she interacted with in school, there was no doubt in Seijuro's mind that he was her closest friend. If she even considered him as such. They were technically on first-name basis, although Eru had initially been adamant on referring to him as "Akashi-kun". Perhaps it was their rapidly developing camaraderie or the fact that he always seemed to pay particularly close attention to her; one way or another, the dark circles around her eyes highlighting her insufficient sleep as well as her hunched back were blindingly obvious to him.

"What happened?" His quiet demand resounded in her ears, and she gazed at him evenly. He did not miss her change in expression. Eru's signature smile had replaced her initially distant and exhausted disposition within seconds.

"What are you talking about, Seijuro?" He caught the falsely cheery tone, and the way she fiddled with the book she was carrying. She had even gone so far as to call him Seijuro, as if that would throw him off her tracks. His eyes narrowed marginally, observing her body language – closed up and aloof – while deliberating on his next words carefully. Deciding that he would get nowhere pursuing the topic, Seijuro shook his head dismissively.

"It's nothing."


If it was difficult to move, it was infinitely harder to direct her attention towards the teacher. The voice that was earnestly explaining the significance behind Shakespeare's famous "Sonnet 18" fell on deaf ears. Her vision drifted in and out of focus as her mind grew hazier by the second. Resting her head gently on the table, she allowed a muffled groan to escape her lips. Concentrating was so much harder with only a few hours of sleep, and she could not imagine how she would ever be able to keep this up throughout the year. She could practically feel Seijuro's gaze fix on her, with the air of curiosity he often adopted when dealing with her.

The shrill sound emitted by the school bell echoed hauntingly in her mind, and she straightened with a start. Seijuro had already packed his belongings and he waited patiently by her table, lost in thought. She hastily scrambled to collect her books before gesturing to the doorway.

The textbooks in Eru's arms were weighing her down. For the third time, she readjusted her study materials, trying to find a comfortable location to rest them on. It seemed that she had gotten weaker, perhaps from the lack of sleep.

"Allow me to carry your textbooks." Seijuro reached for the load in her arms.

"Thank you, but it's fine." Eru brushed him aside once more, unsuccessfully trying to disguise her unsteady footsteps. She heard him heave a quiet sigh before matching his pace with hers.

It had not been the first time that Eru had stubbornly rejected his offer. Somehow, Seijuro always seemed to catch on to her exhaustion. While it was a sweet gesture, she could not afford to show her weaknesses. She would never consent to him carrying her burdens for her.


Her absence had not been particularly noticeable at first - just a couple of days each month. Even though it was not like him to make assumptions, he simply attributed it to feeling under the weather. Lately, Eru had been skipping club sessions more frequently. The seat next to his was empty for at least one day each week. On the days that she was not present, Seijuro would never receive replies to the messages he sent her. She would proceed to feign confusion the next day.

From the teachers' hushed conversations and confused glances, it was apparent to him that they were unaware of her situation as well. The teachers' questioning was met with the same outcome. Perhaps, Seijuro thought, in situations like this, it was best not to meddle; everyone had their own secrets, after all.

As the situation escalated, his resolve not to press Eru for answers dwindled. He could tell that her smiles were becoming more forced, her breaths more laboured; her footsteps more weary. He was not sure if he should intervene.

"Eru," he said after much deliberation. At her questioning glance, he continued, "What's wrong?"

There. There was the forced smile; the hesitant body movements. Why was she hiding so much from him? The light in her eyes dimmed; they looked fragmented. When she replied, she could not disguise the pain in her voice.

"It is nothing of importance."

Half shrouded in the darkness of the clubroom, her wearied gestures was exemplified. The afternoon sun shone brightly. She was the shadow that the sun could not hope to cast light upon; she was like the mystery he could not solve.


It was hard for her to take a breath sometimes. And it was even harder for her to hide her pain from Seijuro. For some inexplicable reason, Eru desperately wanted him to tear through the barriers she spent years building. And it was for that exact reason that she was so absolutely terrified.

Once in a while, someone like him would make an appearance in her life. Someone who exuded the same type of confidence that quelled her fears. Someone who made her believe that she would be safe in the face of danger, as long as they were by her side. Someone who would ultimately betray her.

If she made the mistake of trusting someone like that again, there was no guarantee that the scars would not reopen once more. There was simply no room for such mistakes.


Seijuro knew innately that there was something abjectly wrong with her. The shy smiles that he had come to appreciate, the casual laughter that escaped her lips; even the distant sparkle in her eyes was close to non-existent. Although he knew that it would not be fair to press her for answers, a part of him held a desperation to understand; a desire to unravel her character.

When she quietly occupied the seat next to him in the class directly before break, he could not help but shoot a glance in her direction. The bruise on her face was decidedly ghastly; the bluish-black mark stretched across her right cheek, its garish nature marring her features. Her eyes were bloodshot. If eyes were truly the window to one's soul, then her soul must truly be shattered and scarred.

"Eru, what on earth happened to you?" his right hand stretched out involuntarily towards her. He did not, could not, miss the way she flinched from his touch, as though the mere idea of human contact filled her with dread. She shook her head resolutely before reaching into her bag for her novel.

"Eru, stop trying to avoid the question," the commanding tone was unmistakable, just like the lump that formed in her throat. "Please, just talk to me." Seijuro could almost see her internal battle as her downcast eyes fought to avoid contact with his.

"I can't," she whispered, the beginning of tears glistened at the edges of her dark orbs, "I just can't. Please inform the teacher that I'm going home." Before he had the chance to speak, she packed her belongings and briskly left the classroom. The gust of spring wind that swept through the classroom's open windows was far from sweet.


Eru's bag pressed heavily against her back, resulting in a surge of discomfort. Her heart ached as she thought of the expression of hurt that flitted across Seijuro's face; it was probably the first time someone had genuinely expressed concern for her wellbeing, and yet, she had just pushed him away.

Shaking her head in a fruitless attempt to rid herself of the onslaught of distressing thoughts, Eru hurriedly exited the main building of Teiko. The courtyard was expectedly in full bloom, and the fresh spring air was a welcome change to the confines of the classroom. The high, sunlit clouds drifted lazily across the clear sky, providing the perfect amount of shade from the sun. But even the most pleasant Japanese weather did little to lift her spirits; in fact, it was almost as though the gorgeous weather was mocking her, she reflected bitterly.

Against her own will, Eru continued to wander through the field of fresh flowers. There was no concrete reason for her reluctance to leave, only an imaginary string that kept her tethered within the school grounds. The shrill ringing of the bell signalled the end of the period, effectively snapping her out of the daze that she had unwittingly fallen into. It was quite about time that she made a move.

"Eru!" She heard a raised voice that could only belong to one person, followed by unhurried but decisive footsteps. "What are you still doing here?" Eru turned to face Seijuro just as a gentle hand was about to rest upon her shoulder. She flinched, jerking her body away from his contact. The hurt present in his crimson eyes was unmistakable. Shaking his head, he muttered, "Take care of yourself," before striding back into the building.

The burden on her back was heavier than before; surely her bag could not have increased in mass. As she began to stride forward, her head turned back involuntarily towards the entrance of the building; perhaps a part of her hoped that she might catch a glimpse of red hair. But all she saw was closing glass doors and his figure disappearing from her sight.


He was distracted – something he had not experienced in a long while. But even his best attempts to refocus his attention on the set of notes before him were nullified by his involuntary glances out of the window. The ridiculous notion that Eru would come back pervaded his thoughts. Seijuro ruffled his hair slightly in annoyance; he really needed to stop wasting time dwelling on something that could potentially cause him to fall below expectations.

In spite of his best attempts to rid his mind of Eru, there was no denying the occasional glance out of the paned window and the sinking feeling in his heart.