Authors Note: Sorry for the wait! I had a temporary lapse of writer's block as I struggled to write interesting dialogue for the poems exchange (an endless loop of writing, deleting and rewriting). As as result, I'm not entirely satisfied with how this chapter came out (in my eyes it's too...jumbled), but I am looking forward to writing the next chapter (where I have a clear-cut idea in mind). Nevertheless, I hope you enjoy and leave honest feedback! Always love constructive criticism that helps me build my style. Thank you for reading.

…

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

My eyes watched the plastic clock hanging above the whiteboard, following the hands as they slowly went full circle. I unhappily tapped my pencil on my paper, growing bored with drawing random sketches on my notepad. My classmates looked just as ancy to leave, fidgeting around in their seats.

The teacher, Ms. Gojo, is a slim-built woman whose dark hair is always tied up in a bun. With glasses to boot, she has the look of an intellectual (and the knowledge to back that statement up) To her credit, she's a great teacher who cares deeply about the curriculum for her students and has a passion for talking about her field of study (anatomy). Her lectures are almost always both interactive and memorable (when it's not going by the textbook, that is).

But I swear, if I have to hear one more word about the chemical reactions of reptilian brain enzymes when subjected to cold-temperature environments I might just...

The bell rings. The class becomes abuzz with activity. Ms. Gojo is babbling on about the homework due next class, but nobody (myself included) is really listening. I grab my spare papers and shove them in my bag.

Believe it or not, I was actually eager for my first 'real' meeting with the Literature Club. Not just because it gave me a chance to know Natsuki better, but I actually found myself enjoying the challenge of writing a poem (to my surprise). It took me well over an hour to carve out a poem I felt was worthy enough to share with someone, but once I finished it, I felt overwashed with a great sense of pride in my writing. Maybe Sayori was right in saying writing becomes more enjoyable when it isn't forced through the confines of schoolwork...

I glanced at my phone. Speaking of Sayori, I expected a text from her telling me to wait for her, but I haven't heard anything from her since the walk home yesterday. 'She probably expects me to go on my own now that I know how to get there', I think to myself. No bother. I still remember how to get there.

I slip out the door and mingle with the crowd of students, all wrapped up in their own conversations. I slip out a door and step outside, going through the foyer. The midday sun was streaking across the thin clouds, giving them a rosy pink-orange glow. It looked amazing reflecting on the koi pond, giving the area a serene and quiet aura. I walked through the doors of the now-empty seniors building and made my way up the stairs.

I turn the corner.

Something catches my eye.

A short girl, dressed in her school uniform, back partially facing me as she stepped out of the restroom. A cluster of paper towels is clenched in her fist She rubs her eyes with the towels and tosses them into a waste bin. She walks away, seemingly unaware of my presence.

I recognize the pink hair immediately.

"N-Natsuki?"

She turns to face me. I can see an ugly redness on her cheeks, eyes puffy. She gives me a mixed look of fear and embarrassment before she turns on her heel and almost runs back into the clubroom. I stand in the hallway, dumbfounded.

'What did I say? What happened to her?' I think to myself. I pause by a water fountain, trying to collect my thoughts.

It looked like she was crying, long enough to have her eyes puffy like that. But over what? What could make a sweet and innocent girl like her cry like that? God, I hope she's okay.

Still in a daze, I walked into the classroom. Yuri and Monika were chatting indistinctly at the teacher's desk, Yuri leaning against the solid oak desk with Monika sitting in the black leather chair used by the teacher. The same book Yuri was reading yesterday sits at her side, her hand gently resting on the cover. At one of the front desks sits Sayori, scribbling with all the focus I've ever seen her give on a piece of paper.

And tucked away at one of the back desks is Natsuki, head looking down at the same book she had in the hallway. Why isn't anyone talking to her?

Monika notices me enter, and slightly spins in her chair to face me. "Ah, there you are Kazuma! I was wondering where you were at. I was starting to think you were gonna skip on us!" She says with a light laugh.

"Dont worry, Monika. I'm one of my word." I say, sharing the laugh. "I'm actually looking forward to sharing my poem. Believe it or not, I actually spent the night working on it." A slight exaggeration, but how would she know?

Monika gives me an intrigued look. "Really? Well, it's good to see that your taking this club seriously. I certainly can't wait to read it!" She gives me a final smile and turns back to Yuri, the conversation over.

Should I talk to Natsuki? Does she even want to be talked to right now? She looks like she wants to be left alone. I decide to just give her some space, and share poems with her last. I walk over to Sayori, so wrapped up in her own little world she doesn't notice me approach. I playfully tap her on the nose. She glances up and beams me a smile. "Hi, Kazuma! Ready to share poems?" She chirps, her voice as sweet as nectar.

I give a light shrug. "Ready as I'll ever be."

Monika claps her hands together, which grabs my (and everyone else's) attention. "Okay, everyone! I hope you brought them with you, because it's time to share our poems!"

…

"Ah, hello Kazuma! How are you today?" Monika asks me as I approach her. She still sits at the teacher's desk, laptop half closed.

"Oh, good as ever. You?" I reply.

She gives me a pleasant smile. "Just happy to have everyone here. Ready to read my poem?" She asks, the stark-white paper sitting on her lap. "Absolutely." I say. She hands me the paper and I start to read.

From what I could gather, Monika's poem was about...I'm actually not quite sure, there's a lot of ways one could interpret it. Freedom? Taking the road less traveled? Alternate timelines? If there was a message, it was lost on me.

I hand her the paper back.

"What did you think, Kazuma?" She asks. I can feel those pretty green eyes on me, patiently waiting for me to respond.

I start to sweat, unable to effectively collect my thoughts. "Well…it's very, uh...abstract?" I laugh awkwardly, and can feel my cheeks getting hot. "Sorry. I-I didn't mean it like that. I'm not exactly the best at giving critique."

She laughs. "Don't worry, Kazuma! It's good that you called it abstract because that's the style I was going for. Leaving the message up to the reader. What did you think the message was?" She says.

I try to wrack my brain for a quick, effective response. "I thought that it could be about the loss of...a loved one? With the hole in the wall representing the afterlife? The blindness representing the true scale of the person's pain?" I say, with a grain of uncertainty in my voice.

Monika takes a moment to let that comment sink in, turning it over in her head like a Rubix cube. "That's good! While I did write the story with a different theme in mind, I love your interpretation!" She says with a smile. That puts me at ease...slightly.

She points at my paper. "Can I read yours now?" I silently hand her my paper. I watch her eyes trail down to the bottom of the paper, soaking in every detail of her face, trying to read her thoughts. She offers nothing, a blank stare. What is she thinking?

It seems like an eternity passes before she speaks.

"Kazuma…" She starts.

She hands me back my paper. "This is pretty good! I like the way you portrayed the setting, but…" she pauses. "It could use some work. Your overall message was clear but I feel you could have used some words differently. But it's a great first poem for a relatively inexperienced writer and you should be proud."

I smile, grateful for the genuine comment. "Thank you. When I started writing it I wasn't sure how I wanted to write the setting as, and I almost just gave up and wanted to do a different story altogether." I say with a light laugh.

Monika pauses for a moment. "Well, consider this my writing tip of the day. When you get stuck on one part of your poem, or any story really, it'll stop your flow entirely and mess up how you view your story. My advice?"

She waves her hand.

"Just move on! Write down what you have on your mind for that part and just keep writing. You can always go back to it and revise it later.

"Wow, Monika. That's...really helpful. Thank you."

She smiles. "No problem! Don't forget, you can always come to me for advice on anything. As club president, it's my duty to make you feel welcome."

I smile. "Thanks. I'll keep that in mind."

…

Sayori gives me a bright smile when she sees me approach her. I take a moment to look at the paper she was . It was obvious from the sharp contrast in writing she had gotten something written down, but then came back to finish it later. 'This should be interesting.' I thought to myself.

"Hey, 'zuma!" she chirps. "Ready to exchange poems?" She fumbles with the paper and hands it to me, which I gingerly take.

I read through her paper. It's a brief story about how the sunshine greets her every morning, persuading her to rise out of bed despite her objections. Very cutesy, with a happy tone hanging over the text like an umbrella. The final stanza? 'I want breakfast.' In short, it had Sayori's name written all over it. "Soooo? What did you think?" She says, eager to hear my thoughts.

I hand her the paper back. "I thought it was good, Sayori. Short but sweet, but something tells me you were a little hungry when you were writing it…" I say with a sly grin.

She looked confused at first, but then laughs. "Ahehe, well, I woke up late and didn't get to eat breakfast this morning, so I was feeling hungry when I was writing it".

I can't help but shake my head. "Sayori, you really need to work on getting up on time. Eventually this is gonna hurt your marks." She gives me a dejected look, says nothing. I try to move things along. "Anyway, do you want to read my poem now?" At this, her demeanor changes. She eagerly snatches the paper from my hand and starts to read.

Sayori slowly starts to read my paper, and I watch her expression morph fro vague interest to some variety of awe (that's really the only way I can describe it). I can even hear an audible "woah" under her breath. After maybe thirty seconds, she looks up at me.

"Kazuma, this is amazing! This has to be of the best poems I've ever read in this class!" she says, voice filled with excitement.

I wave her off. "Oh, come on. It's okay, but certainly not the best."

She continues. "No, really! I loved how you tried to put the reader into the setting, and how you made the world around him interesting. Even describing the smallest of details like the coldness of the ocean and all that. It was great!". She concludes with a grin.

I think about her review for a moment. Praise is nice, but I also want criticism. Then again, maybe going to a carefree girl like Sayori for an honest review isn't the best idea in the world.

I start to walk to where Yuri was sitting when I heard her speak up. "Hey, um...are we still walking home together?" she asks, doing that nervous tick with her fingers again.

I pause. "Obviously. Why, whats wrong?"

Sayori stammered. "N...nothing! Just double-checking." she says with an awkward laugh.

I smile, say nothing, and turned to walk to Yuri's desk.

…

Yuri's poem was oozing with symbolism, using . Her poem (I think) took a more 'fantastical' route, talking about the supernatural and spirits. It was only eight lines long, but it was a very serene poem with a mystical ending.

I sneak a glance up.

Indifferent, Yuri is nose-deep in the book she had earlier, a maroon-red book with the sketch of a cat's eye in a pyramid. I read the title, written in black text. "The Portrait of Markov." It looked very...intimidating. I wonder what a book with that kind of cover could be about? And furthermore, what does a book like that say about Yuri's personality?

I clear my throat. "...Yuri?"

She glances up from her book, her glasses slightly tilted on her nose. She pushes it back into place with her middle finger. "Y-yes?" She stammered. "I, uh, finished your poem."

Yuri closed her book and gently pushed it aside. "Really? Wh...what did you think of it?"

I take another look at her paper, staring at her delicate, cursive handwriting. "I thought it was very nice. It was rather brief but it did contain a lot of pleasant…" My mind blanks. "...imagery.

Yuri gives me a half-smile. "Thank you, Kazuma. Your sentiment means a lot to me."

"So, I take it your a fan of the paranormal?"

Yuri gives me a quizzical look. "I'm sorry?"

I raise the paper in my hand. "Perhaps I misread, but was it not about ghosts? That's the impression I gathered from it."

Yuri pauses for a moment. "That's...one way you could perceive it. But you could perceive it, but it wasn't what I had in mind."

I cocked an eyebrow. "Oh? What was the intention then?" I said, now intrigued.

Yuri seemed to become flustered at this. "Well...I w-wouldnt want to mess with your certainly valid way of interpretations, but..." She trailed off. "It...it's not that important. Don't worry about it." She glanced at my paper. "May I read yours now?" she said, pushing her book aside. I silently handed her the paper, still very confused at how abruptly she ended that. Wouldn't she want to discuss her work?

Yuri carefully reads my paper, soaking in every detail. I can see her head tilting as she slowly reads to the end of the poem. Occasionally, I can hear her mutter a few 'ohs' and 'ahs'. I lean against the opposing desk, waiting for her to finish. When she was done, she looks up at me, still holding the paper.

"Kazuma, you are a first time writer?" She finally asks, still looking at the paper.

I think for a moment. "When it comes to writing just to write, yes. Why do you ask?"

She looks flustered, like she just said something wrong. "Oh no, it's nothing. I'm just reading through your paper and noticing distinct styles that first time writers tend to do."

"Like what?"

"Well…", she picks up the pen lying on her desk, twirls it around with her fingers.", "First time writers usually make the objective of their work obvious to the reader. It isn't a bad style of writing, but it often comes off as immature or unkept. They tend to use more...basic vocabulary out of fear of scaring off or confusing their reader. It's certainly a safe tactic to employ, but for many readers it's a sign of shallowness, or lack of confidence." She says, an edge of authority in her voice. Right now, I am the student and she is the teacher.

I'm not sure whether to be grateful for this information or insulted by the fact she called me shallow. I know Yuri doesn't mean ill intent, but I'd be lying if that comment didn't sting just a bit.

My mind wanders back to Monika and Natsuki's brief dialogue yesterday. "...it's both simple and complex. It's unique." I clear my throat. "Kind of like how Natsuki writes?" I dart my eyes to where she is, busy exchanging her poem with Sayori. I guess she didn't hear me mention her name.

Yuri quickly shakes her head. "Natsuki is...different. What you would think would be a weakness in her writing is actually a strength. She can use simple vocabulary to paint a vivid image. There are few writers who can do this well, and I think Natsuki is one of them, even if she doesn't do it actively."

I ponder this for a moment.

Yuri clears her throat, and slides her book back to her. "In any case, I'm curious as to what she will think of it."

…

I take a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves before I went to Natsuki. What if she doesn't want to talk to me? Then again, she did seem to talk to Sayori and everyone else just fine. I slowly walk up to Natsuki, whose head is slumped down at her paper.

She looks up at me, an annoyed look on her face. "What do you want?" She said in a sour tone. In her eyes, I can still see redness, but it's mostly starting to fade. I fumble with my words. "We, uh, haven't exchanged poems yet."

She glances away from me. "Oh, right." A pause. "Sorry. It's just…", she trails off.

I try to move things along. "Uh, did you want to share? I understand if you don't want to. ", I say, trying to sound comforting.

"No, it's fine." she mutters, opening up her pink binder. She takes the stray sheet of paper out from its rings and hands it to me. I can't help but notice the slight shaking of her hand, reverberating on the paper.

What happened to her?

I start to read her paper.

A World of Masks

by Natsuki Tamura

A world of masks.

Everyone has one, but nobody knows why.

Blocking everyone out but keeping everyone inside.

Making it so hard to even try.

A world of masks.

It holds you close, blocking out all that you can feel.

Fear distorting everything that is real.

Making it so hard to love, to see, to trust.

Why fight when our demons always pursue us?

A world of masks.

Too afraid to try, but the pain will always remain.

Unable to escape from this terrifying domain.

Suffering more, but hey, who would ever know?

In this world of masks, nobody shares your sorrow.

I read through the paper, then read it again. I can feel Natsuki's eyes on me, gauging for my reaction. When I finished rereading it, I finally speak up. "Wow, that was...amazing."

Her eyes light up. "Really? You mean it?" Her face sours a bit. "Or are you just saying that..."

"No, I really mean that. Your word usage is simple, but it goes a long way in describing the overall message. It was really deep. Natsuki, this is a really good poem. You should be proud of it."

She looks at me. For a second, I think she might start crying again. "Thank you, Kazuma. That r-really does mean a lot." I can't help but feel a warmness spread across my body. She really is sweet.

I frown slightly. "...But it's certainly different from what you said you like to write. Happy things, you said?"

She looked out the window, eyes focused on the koi pond. "I know, but...I just...wanted to try something new, is all. I didn't want my first poem you read to turn you off from me..." Her face goes red, realizing the innuendo she accidentally created. "N-NOT like that!" She stammers.

I blush a bit. "I got you." I look down at the paper, rereading a part of it. "I can see some symbolism here. I can guess the masks represent the fear of sharing your work with others, and being afraid of rejection by others?"

Natsuki sighed.

"Yeah. That's right."

Silence follows. I try to pick things back up. "...did you want to read my poem, now?" I say, holding my paper up in my hand. She nods silently.

I hand her my poem, and she starts to read. I watch the emotions on her face shift from boredom to investment to finally...acceptance? I couldn't place that emotion. After a beat, she says,"You wrote this?"

"Yes."

She flips my page over, as if looking for some hidden clue.

"What is it? What's wrong? " I asked, puzzled.

She flips it over again. "It's...it's good." Her voice seems to quiver. I don't understand. Did she not like it? Did she hate it? Did it scare her? My mind runs through a million different ideas.

She seems to space out, thinking about something (or someone). She gets up from her chair. "Gi...give me a second." Flustered, she turns to the closet and swings open the door.

Hesitantly, I follow.

The closet is much more spacious than I expected it to be. A small sink with a plug-in kettle sits, with wood shelves hanging above it. Facing it is a long row of shelves extending some six feet high, from wall to wall. A bit of a stretch for me to reach the very top shelf, but Natsuki would definitely need help reaching anything up there. Various colored papers, folders and books sit strewn about, some organized and some not.

Natsuki hops up and down, trying to reach at a pink, cardboard book set. She fails and curses (adorably, I might add) "Ughhh! Why does Monika always insist on moving my stuff!" She mutters, still trying to reach the collection of books.

I point at the colorfully decorated box set, sitting on the highest shelf. "Is this what you wanted?" She folds her arms, glances away from me. "Yes, but I could've gotten it myself, you know. " 'Sure you could have', I think with a laugh. I carefully grab the set, surprisingly light in my hands. "Be careful! I spent all the money I had on it, and I cant afford for it to get damaged by you or anyone." She practically snaps at me.

Internally, I roll my eyes. She's acting like I'm gonna toss it out the window or something. I'm not that reckless. Who does she take me for? Though I have to appreciate her care for her…

I take a closer look at the boxset.

"Manga?" I accidentally say aloud.

Her face takes a wounded expression, which morphs into distaste. "Sorry I enjoy stuff that you don't like!" her voice rising at the last word.

I put my hands up in an almost-defensive posture. "No no, it's not that. I love reading manga, dont you remember? I think I mentioned it yesterday."

Her face briefly takes a distant look, then she lights up. "Oh...yeah." She looks down, ashamed. "Sorry I attacked you like that, then. It's just...I've always been laughed at for enjoying something people think is for children.

I raise a finger out to the class. "Even them?"

She gives a dismissive wave. "They don't really care, but I think Yuri looks down on me for reading it. She thinks its too…'childish'", she says, making quotation marks with her fingers. While Natsuki was talking, I ran my fingers along the neatly-organized, alphabetically placed books. I pull the first book out with my finger.

I glance at the cover. At the top reads 'Parfait Girls' in a stylish bold text. Four schoolgirls dressed in colorful attire striking animated poses adorns the cover. It looks like your average slice-of-life manga (the type I tend to stick away from in favor of more 'adventurous' reads). I flip it over and skim through the summary...

"Its kinda slow-going at first, but things start to pick up by the end of the volume. And after that it get really good! This is mostly just exposition so you can get a feel for the characters." Natsuki tells me, her voice completely shifted from a minute ago. 'She must be really passionate about this', I think to myself.

I nod silently, and start thumbing through the pages. The art style is what you'd expect from a female-oriented manga, but there's a certain appeal to the character designs that intrigues me. The way the characters are drawn, in this half-chibi/half-realistic style, has a certain charm to it.

From across the room, Monika stands up. "Alright! I hope everyone enjoyed sharing their poems with each other. It's five o'clock, so you all are free to leave now, but be prepared for an announcement tomorrow about the festival!" And with that, she starts to pack up her laptop. Yuri looks puzzled but says nothing.

I turn to see Sayori lingering by the closet entrance. "Hey, 'zuma! Ready to walk home?"."Sure, let's go." I say, starting to carefully tuck the book into my bag. As I start to leave, Natsuki grabs my sleeve and pulls me close.

"Listen, can you try reading some of it tonight so we can start reading together tomorrow?" she asks, her voice sweet and pure. I nod and start to turn away, but she pulls me closer to her. "But I swear to God, if I find a single crease, wrinkle or tear on my book..."

Her voice is quiet but menacing.

"I. Will. End. You."

All I can do is laugh. "Natsuki, it'll be in better condition than when you gave it to me." And with that, Sayori and I head out the door and make our way downstairs.

…

"What did you think of Natsuki's poem, 'zuma?" She asked me out of the blue.

We were about two blocks away from Sayori's house when she asked me the question. We had mostly been silent, with myself just scrolling through my phone. I couldn't help but notice that Sayori seemed to be...distant.

I think of a response. "I thought it was really good. There was a lot of imagery that made it stand out, and it definitely lured you into an unfamiliar place."

A pause.

"What did you think of it?" I ask in reply.

"Oh...I thought that too. It felt like it actually put me into that world. Relatable."

Wait, huh?

"Relatable, Sayori? What do you mean?" I asked, confused.

Sayori gives me an odd look, then blushes. "Oh! Sorry. I meant to say 'remarkable'. Yeah, it was very remarkable that she wrote something like that. She tends to keep her writing very…" She makes a gesture with her hands. "Flatlined."

I give her an uncertain look, but ultimately shrug it off. Honest mistake, is all.

I walk her to her front gate and wave goodbye, before I turn and start the walk to my home. I absentmindedly scroll through my phone to pass the time. Before I know it I'm at my front gate. I pull my house keys from my pocket and start to unlock the door when I notice a white letter sticking out of my door. I gingerly pull it out and open it. 'Must've been delivered after my parents left for work.' I think to myself as I tear the letter open.

I skim through it. It's a colorfully decorated flyer advertising the upcoming festival, the message aimed at parents who would like to volunteer. Nothing really interesting for me. I flip it over, but it's just the same text translated to Japanese.

'The festival,' I thought. I wonder what Monika has planned for me to do, if anything. I am a new member, but I'm sure there's something I can do. Maybe help get the word out about the Literature Club or help make decorations or help Natsuki with baking.

With that last thought, my heart beats just a tad faster.

I unlock the door and push it open. As usual, the lights are off and something warm sits on the stove. I flick the lights on, placing the letter on the entry table and walk to the kitchen. I look down into the metal pot on the stove; looks like gyudon, with grilled vegetables mixed in. I open the fridge and dig out a Ramune bottle from it's box, taking it upstairs with me. I get to my door and set the soft drink on my desk, placing my bag on my chair.

I pull Natsuki's book out from my bag and gently place it next to the soda. For a moment, I remember that I also have a poem to write for tomorrow. 'I could always just start writing after I finish, or do it at school.' I think. Or I could get through this and start working on the poem after.

I crack open the book and start to read.