CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE – READ MY FEELINGS (MoniKenta)

Kenta stared for a long time at his cellphone, trying to fully wrap his mind around the words that Monika had sent him around fifteen minutes earlier through text. With each passing second, his heart beat faster and his face grew warmer as he waited by the school entrance, even if he was just staring at his cellphone's screen. For a moment, he wondered whether he was hungry or sleepy to the point of being unable to think straight, but that was not the case. His eyes weren't deceiving him.

"my house, we'll go together. is that okay with you? :)"

Monika had done him a favor by not keeping their new hangout place a secret when he had asked her about it only moments earlier. Now, however, he wondered whether it was bad that she told him outright where the two of them would be spending the rest of their day together. After what happened during their last meetup, Kenta sensed that nothing could ever top going to the movies with Monika until this happened. Instead of choosing one of the many places downtown that they know about, however, Monika invited him to come over to her place this time.

Kenta understood what Monika meant about the place for their meetups not being important, but this was on a whole new level for him. The mere fact that Monika seemed to feel comfortable enough to invite him over to her house told him many things already. Compound that with their accidental exchange just a couple of days ago at the waiting shed, and Kenta's brain was close to sagging with both anxiety and anticipation about where his friendship with Monika was going.

The shock of all this was enough to even distract him momentarily from the cheesy homework they were given for English, which was to write a poem. Naoki had been rather vague about suggesting what he should do, though Kenta knew that wasn't exactly his best friend's fault. Then again, Naoki's suggestion that he should write something that Monika would read didn't help ease his mind either, especially now that this happened.

Monika had told him that she would be tidying up a few things at their clubroom first; afterwards, the two of them would go together to her house. Kenta swallowed anxiously. Never in his wildest dreams thus far did he expect to ever go to Monika's place, even if it may have involved schoolwork or something more formal than a hangout. Back when the two of them were classmates during their freshman year, they settled any schoolwork or other such matters at school only. Then again, so much has changed since then.

He was still deep in thought and worry when Monika arrived, looking slightly harried. Concern immediately laced Kenta's voice as he asked, "Hey, are you okay?"

Monika managed to give him a small smile. "Yeah, just a bit stressed out from a few things at the club," she said. "Takeo was being pretty testy on everyone, and I had to put my foot down."

The thought of someone like Takeo giving Monika more trouble than she already needs rankled Kenta's mood. "What's he doing that for?"

Monika waved her hand dismissively. "Just a few things that we didn't agree on, about the club and stuff," she replied. "He can be too much when he's stressed out."

"Even so, he shouldn't be taking it out on you guys," Kenta remarked.

"I agree. That's why I had to put him in his place. Ugh, sometimes I just . . ."

Kenta looked at her as the two of them walked down the path towards the school gates. "Um . . . if you're not up to it, then maybe we can . . . reschedule our hangout for today?"

"No!" said Monika hastily. When she went on, she toned her voice down a little. "It's alright, I'm fine. I just . . . I just need to stop complaining. I mean, it's not like I haven't had days like this one before," she added, letting out a short laugh.

Kenta wasn't entirely convinced, though. He kept staring at her with concern. When Monika noticed this, she patted his arm. "It's alright, Kenta. Days like this happen. I just have to move on and . . . and keep going."

To his credit, Kenta didn't flinch or shy away from her hand. "Well, okay. But don't forget what I said, alright? If you need help on anything, just . . . just tell me."

Monika squeezed his arm gently. "You're helping me more than you think, Kenta."

Around five minutes later, the two of them were seated comfortably in the back of Monika's family car. Kenta was secretly adamant at putting at least several inches of distance between him and Monika, but there were times when Monika closed that gap to pat his arm or place a hand on his shoulder as they talked. In spite of his nervousness, Kenta felt more than happy and carefree during the ten-minute drive. His anxiety came flooding back, however, when the car slowed down in front of the black iron gates that flanked the whitewashed fence walls around Monika's house. Kenta looked through the tinted windows and checked out the surroundings as the car drove past the gates and into the driveway.

When they pulled up in front of the garage, Monika's aged driver Fujita turned off the car, left the driver's seat and dutifully opened the passenger side door to let the two of them out. As soon as he got out of the car, Kenta was almost mesmerized by the sights around Monika's place.

The house was built with a mixture of traditional and contemporary designs, and was definitely larger than most houses he had encountered. Its roof was made of dark brown slate, which complemented the cream-colored walls perfectly well. The windows were larger than traditional ones, often spanning almost the entire height of the walls they were built in, and the glass panes were tinted with a pale grey color and surrounded by black frames. The eaves that lined up the top of the walls were decorated with chiseled dark brown oak, and the doors leading inside were made of gleaming chestnut and inlaid with smaller glass panes that bore the same color as the windows. The driveway and the path leading to the gates were made of smooth, pale orange bricks, and the edges were flanked at intervals with little garden lights designed to illuminate the area during nighttime. A freshly mown lawn surrounded the entire house, with some sections of it housing flowery shrubs, potted plants and small trees, giving the place the remaining segments of different colors it needed to complete its aura of sophisticated beauty.

Kenta followed Monika and Fujita as they made their way to the front door, looking around at the place like a child who had gotten lost in an amusement park. Like with the car door, Fujita opened the front door for them, and once again, Kenta felt awestruck as he saw the house's interior.

Everything was dominated by white walls and smooth wooden floors. Warm-colored carpets were nestled in between matching furniture, and the walls were lined with both modern art and contemporary wall light sconces. Even the ceiling, which was very high up, bore fashionable glass chandeliers at certain places, providing more light overhead. Though there were doors leading to other parts of the house, there were no walls that separated the living room from the kitchen and dining area; everything was laid out smoothly in a flat expanse more or less, allowing one to walk freely around the house. Lastly, on one corner sat the staircase leading up to the second floor, with glass panes and metal serving as banisters for both the stairs and the overhang that loomed above the ground floor.

"Just stay here for a while, okay?" said Monika, pointing towards one of the black cushioned lounge chairs in the living room. "I'll just go talk to Mrs. Fujita about dinner, and then I'll be going upstairs to drop off my things."

"S-Sure thing!" said Kenta. As Monika went through one of the doors next to the kitchen area, Kenta sat down on a lounge chair, setting his backpack down next to him. As he waited, he glanced around the house to take in what he didn't manage to see properly before, and he began registering in his mind the truth of everything that was happening right now. Indeed, he was as overwhelmed by the idea of being invited in Monika's house as he was being fascinated by how beautiful the entire place was.

Monika soon reentered the kitchen area and made her way upstairs. After a few seconds, the kitchen door opened a third time, and in walked a bespectacled older lady with greying hair, a dress of pale pink and a white apron tied over it. Kenta mused that this must be Mrs. Fujita, the housekeeper. When she saw Kenta, she smiled and said politely, "Good afternoon, sir."

Kenta smiled back. "Good afternoon, ma'am."

"I take it you're one of Miss Monika's friends from school?" asked Mrs. Fujita as she opened one of the cupboards in the kitchen to take out a few things.

"Yes, ma'am," replied Kenta.

"Perhaps you're the one she mentioned earlier today," she went on. The clinking of pots and pans echoed from the kitchen area as she worked. "She said she'd be bringing over a friend after school."

Kenta felt even more nervous now. Then again, it was better than arriving without anyone in the household knowing. "Y-Yes, I suppose so, ma'am."

Mrs. Fujita adjusted her glasses as she looked at Kenta. "Pardon me for asking, young man, but . . . are you Miss Monika's boyfriend?"

Heat coursed through Kenta's face as he blushed. "Ah, um . . . er, I'm . . . I mean, I'm n-not—"

"Don't worry, son, there's no harm in that," said Mrs. Fujita genially, letting out a little laugh as she whisked some eggs together in a stainless steel bowl. "It's just that you're the first boy that she's ever brought over here. She usually comes here with a group of friends, but never with a single person."

"Ah, I see," said Kenta nervously. This additional piece of information joined his anxiety in an instant. "Well, I'm j-just a friend of hers from school, that's all, ma'am."

"A really good friend of mine, let me tell you that, Mrs. Fujita."

Monika's amused voice rang from the stairs, making Kenta look up. As he did so, his breath was instantly taken away.

Monika was still in her school outfit, but she had taken off her jacket and left only the brown sweater vest and white shirt that they all wore as part of their uniforms, with the sleeves rolled back to show more of her forearms. The most glaring detail, however, was the fact that she had removed her favorite white ribbon and let her long brown hair down; having been used to seeing her hair tied up in a ponytail, Kenta found the sight of her with long hair extremely new, making her look vastly different in his eyes, though not necessarily in a bad way. If anything, it made her look even more elegantly beautiful.

Mrs. Fujita smiled. "I can tell. Is he the one that you've been meeting downtown after school for the past weeks, Miss Monika?"

"Yes, Mrs. Fujita," replied Monika cheerfully. "For a change, I decided that we could spend some time here instead of downtown for the week. I hope I didn't catch you off guard with that, Kenta," she added, glancing over to him.

Kenta snapped out of his trance as he realized that he was staring. "D-Don't worry about it, it's alright with me," he told Monika. "You . . . Um . . ."

Monika beamed as she reached the foot of the stairs. "It's my hairdo, isn't it?" she asked, giggling a little as she stroked her hair delicately.

"Y-Yes, but it's okay," Kenta stammered. "You look g-good like that."

Monika blushed. "Well, it does feel good to let my hair down when I get home, both literally and figuratively!" she remarked happily.

To pass the time, Kenta decided to help Monika prepare dinner alongside Mrs. Fujita. Though he was unfamiliar with kitchen work, he wanted to make himself more useful by fetching what was needed and helping keep watch of what was being cooked. Monika, who seemed familiar with how things worked more or less, was helping Mrs. Fujita cut up some ingredients and measure the seasonings required with extra aplomb—Kenta sensed that she really was happy right now, and he felt relieved that she was now feeling better after the tiredness she was showing earlier when they left school together. Soon, the kitchen was surrounded by the enticing smells of vegetable soup, stir fried eggplants with garlic and ginger, and chicken karaage. Kenta still felt nervous about the idea that they were also cooking these dishes for him and not just for Monika or anyone else, but Monika assured him that it was all fine, and that he deserved hospitality as much as any visitor did.

Mrs. Fujita took her leave of them when everything was cooked, taking with her some of the food for her and her husband at Monika's insistence when she politely declined to join them in eating. Once Mrs. Fujita had left, the two of them set about preparing what they would need to start eating, setting down plates and small bowls on the glass-topped dining table that stood some distance away from the kitchen area. All of the remaining chicken karaage was given to Kenta; Monika, who followed a vegetarian diet, chose to eat only the vegetable soup and stir-fried eggplants.

"I wish she'd stayed to eat along with us," said Monika as she sat down. "I invite her and Mr. Fujita to eat with me whenever I could, because . . . well, I eat alone around here most of the time."

Kenta nodded, remembering her home situation. "It does make you feel lonely after quite a while, eh?" he stated, spearing a piece of chicken with a fork.

"Oh, you have no idea," said Monika. "No matter how much I insist, the household helpers we have never join me in eating. Mr. and Mrs. Fujita are the only ones that accept because they've been around for a long while, but even then, it's only at my request."

"Household helpers? But the house seems to be . . . empty," Kenta remarked.

"I always give them the evenings off," said Monika, joining him as she scooped some eggplants onto her plate. "I mean, there's not much work to be done around here since there's so very few of us here, and I don't want them tiring themselves out by helping me with every little thing that needs to be done. I'm totally okay with cleaning by myself and preparing my own things for school. If my parents were here, it would be a lot more different, but . . . they're not here."

She said all this with a hint of sadness in her voice. Kenta looked at her for a moment. "How . . . How are they?"

Monika shrugged. "They're fine, I guess. They haven't called again yet since that one time, but my mom did send me a text message earlier this week. It wasn't anything special, though."

"I see. . ." Not wanting to make things gloomy, Kenta decided to change the topic. He racked his mind for something good to talk about until he remembered what happened at their English class earlier.

"That reminds me. We've been given some pretty . . . 'unique' homework for English."

"Oh, really?" said Monika as she chewed some eggplant. "What is it about?"

"We're gonna be writing a poem or something."

The look in Monika's dazzling emerald-colored eyes changed instantly—they seemed to shine with both curiosity and surprise, though Kenta didn't exactly know why. When Monika spoke again, her voice sounded amused again.

"Your English professor's Mrs. Takahashi, right?" she asked. "She often digs giving homework like that. Ours is Professor Nakamura, so we get different homework."

"Yeah, it's Takahashi alright," replied Kenta. "I'm actually a bit nervous about it."

"How come?"

"Poems and all. Never read that many, and never ever tried writing one before."

Monika paused. "Not even for a girl?"

That made Kenta pause as well. "Well, n-no. Do guys still do that? Like, impress a girl they like using a poem?"

"Some might call it old-fashioned, but personally, I'd find it rather sweet," said Monika, smiling. "It takes a whole lot of courage and inspiration to write a poem, let alone write it for someone."

All of a sudden, Kenta was hit with the urge to write a poem for Monika, even if he had no earthly idea how. "You're right about that. My buddy said something like that as well." About how I should just try writing something that I'd like her to read.

A few moments of silence followed, during which Monika chewed her food daintily, looking unexpectedly cute in the process. It was during moments like this when Kenta could never look away from her resplendent glamor, making him blush as he ate. When Monika spoke again, however, just like how she had caught him off guard by letting her hair down, her words startled him once again.

"Writing poetry is a good hobby to get behind. It helps me relieve some of the stress I build up at school and at . . . at home."

Now Kenta really couldn't stop himself from staring. "Wait, you . . . you write poetry?"

Monika giggled. "Yes, actually. Surprise!"

"Wow," Kenta breathed. Given how smart Monika was, it seemed obvious that she would have writing as a hobby, but even then it still seemed like a shock to him. "I . . . I just didn't figure you for a poet or s-something!"

"I wouldn't call myself a full-fledged poet or anything, though," said Monika. "I just write poems during my spare time. Nothing too formal or fancy—mostly just free verse. I don't write instant classics, and I don't follow genres like odes or sonnets."

"You and me both," said Kenta, laughing. "But seriously, if you can write poems and stuff, you ought to ace this homework if it's ever given to you guys. As for me, I ain't so sure."

Monika grinned. "I suppose you're not at all familiar with writing creatively."

Kenta nodded. "I mean, I can write papers for class, sure, or else I'll be flunking my subjects again if I couldn't, but the creative stuff's not exactly my specialty. The first things that pop up in my mind whenever I hear the word 'poem' are either just two things: that every poem begins with 'roses are red,' or that most poems in history were written by good ol' Bill Shakes."

"You mean William Shakespeare?" asked Monika in between more giggles. "Well, thanks to you, I might have to start calling him 'Bill Shakes' from now on. But yes, it can be rather intimidating to learn about how to write a good poem, especially when the only things you know about poetry involve the classics or those taught in school. I've been through this experience before when I was just starting to write poems."

"Is that so?"

"Yes. At first, I tried sticking to what the great poets did by emulating their style and imagery, but it was very difficult. I found myself erasing entire stanzas out over and over, trying to make them sound perfect like how they did it. The result is that I never got anywhere. I ended up feeling rather sad because it felt like I was simply horrible at it. But as time passed, I realized that I didn't need to set the bar that high up, and that I didn't need to imitate what the great ones did. What I needed was to work at my own pace and on my own style, because if I kept comparing myself to really good poets and bringing myself down whenever I couldn't do what they did, I would never be able to improve.

"I guess that applies to all things in life," Monika went on. "You need to discover yourself first, and keep in mind that greatness never comes naturally. People aren't born great, after all, so that's what I did. I stopped following certain styles to the letter and experimented to see where I was most comfortable with. Before I knew it, writing poetry came more smoothly for me, and I was able to let my writing flow."

A short silence followed, during which Monika cleared her throat. "I seemed to have droned on a bit there," she said amusedly. "Let's just call that 'Monika's Writing Tip of the Day,' hmm?"

Kenta laughed. "Well, you're right about everything. I mean, that's basically one of the ideas that I like to live by. When I was still a dunce back in middle school, I didn't put much thought in improving myself, so when the time came for me to choose between doing better and being expelled for flunking, I almost went nuts trying to save what I could. I kept comparing myself to the better students in class, like Naoki, and I often felt bad for myself for not being as smart as they were."

"But you bounced back," said Monika.

"Yeah, I figured that I didn't need to be as smart as them. I just had to work hard and keep working hard at my own pace. Just like in sports, I decided to take things through practice, one step at a time. In the end, I saw that I was actually better than I was before, and even though I wasn't a top student or anything, I still felt good about it."

Monika smiled at him. "That's definitely something you can be proud of, Kenta."

Kenta grinned, blushing. "Yeah, I suppose it is."

As the two of them ate in silence for some moments, Monika spoke again. "Tell you what. If you want, I can help you get started with your poem after we eat. Are you fine with that?"

Kenta stopped chewing, looking dumbfounded. "W-Wait, what? Um, isn't it a bit early for that?"

"Maybe," replied Monika, "but at least that'll be one less thing for you to worry about over the weekend, right?"

"Ah, w-well, I guess y-you're right," said Kenta. Knowing Monika's knack for being diligent regarding anything about schoolwork, he saw nothing wrong in what she suggested. What made him nervous, however, was the fact that she might be monitoring whatever he would be writing—regardless of what the theme of his work would be, the idea of a relatively more experienced poet like her perusing his first attempt at poetry made him feel rather terrified. Then again, there was no way he would be able to refuse her, not with that beautiful smile of hers.

When the two of them finished eating, Kenta helped Monika clean up by collecting their dirty dishes and stowing them away in the nearby dishwasher to be cleaned. Once they were done, Monika invited him to spend the remainder of their day together in the entertainment room upstairs. Seeing that there wasn't exactly anywhere else in the house for them to go to, Kenta followed her dutifully.

The entertainment room was a mixture of modern and traditional amenities: there were more cushioned lounge chairs and a black sofa sitting in front of a wall-mounted flat-screen T.V. next to a large stereo, but there were also wooden chairs, end tables with lamps and other ornamental decorations, and shelves lined with numerous leather-bound books. At the room's farthest corner sat a grand piano, its black sheen gleaming against the ceiling lights that Monika turned on as he entered.

Because he had left his school things downstairs, Monika went back to her room and returned shortly with a composition notebook and a pen for him to use. She went over to the sofa where Kenta was sitting and placed the notebook and pen on the small glass table in front of them. Afterwards, she turned to him and said in a confidently professional manner, "First things first. What kind of theme do you want to go with?"

Kenta stared blankly at nothing in particular for the next few seconds, thinking. "Um, I don't think I have anything for that yet."

Monika paused, thinking as well. "Well, how about this: if you're going to be talking about something that you want to show someone, whether it's about your feelings or your interests or your experiences in life, what would that be?"

"Uh, well . . . I don't know exactly what to show someone that they don't know already," replied Kenta. "I'm loud, I get angry really fast sometimes, I'm a dunderhead at a lot of things, and I like to joke around. But I don't think there's a lot of interesting stuff that I can put in a poem about those kinds of things."

Monika laughed a little. "If you want to try, you can actually make something like that work. But I guess something else would be better for now, because it'd be good if your first poem packed a mean punch! Hmm . . . Okay, I have an idea."

"What is it?"

Monika didn't immediately reply. Kenta watched as she picked up her composition notebook, stared at it for a short while, and smiled. "Imagine that there's a certain person who's really . . . special in your heart. Imagine that you're facing them right now, and there are a lot of things that you want to tell them, but you can't because you have no idea how. If you're given the chance to tell them how in your own way, what would you say, and how would you say it?"

Kenta fell silent. If anything, it was already very obvious what words he would say and to whom he would say them to—he just didn't know whether he would be able to say them even through the written lines of a poem. For one thing, the fear of being rejected was still there, and while his inkling about how Monika saw him as more than a friend may be getting stronger thanks to their interactions over the past month, he still dreaded the idea of expecting too much and scaring her off because of it. Naturally, he didn't want to assume that he was only hanging out with Monika just to date her—he was, after all, no longer in middle school—but he couldn't stop his feelings from growing the more he learned about her.

He stared deep into Monika's dazzling eyes, knowing that he needed to say something in reply. He decided to play it safe first. "Y-Yeah, I know what you m-mean, but I . . . I don't think I can find the right w-words for that at the moment," he said lamely.

"Are you sure?" she asked.

"Y-Yes. . ."

He blinked. Were his eyes just playing tricks, or did Monika suddenly look . . . disappointed?

The expression was gone in a heartbeat, but it lingered over Kenta's vision like an afterimage brought about by a blinding light. All business, Monika carried on, putting her notebook down. "I see. Well, I suppose we need to find some other way—"

"N-No, wait!"

Monika stopped as he did, looking mildly startled. A ringing silence followed his exclamation. In his ears, his heartbeat rang deafeningly, as if it was the loudest sound in the universe right now. All of his thoughts and emotions screamed in defiance to his hesitation the moment he saw that saddened look on Monika's face. Whether or not he had just imagined it, he had no idea, but Kenta knew that there was no turning back without making things awkward or without adding more to Monika's puzzlement and the disappointment he saw her display.

Man up, Kenta.

"Alright, I'll be honest. But . . . it's gonna be a b-bit embarrassing."

Monika kept staring at him, her expression unfathomable this time. Nonetheless, she kept quiet and waited for him to say what it was that he should be saying. Readying himself, Kenta took a deep breath and spoke very seriously.

"The thing is . . . back then, if I ever said stuff like this to a girl that was really special to me, I'd just do it without thinking. I'll say that I like her, and that if she wanted, I could be her boyfriend. Looking back at it, I feel pretty embarrassed about it all," he admitted with a nervous laugh, "and if I ever did that today, I'd probably die from the cringe I'd feel. This time around, though, if I'll ever t-tell the girl I like how I felt about her, I know it'll be different. It'll be special, just like she is. . . I'll tell her that . . . t-that . . ."

Instead of continuing, Kenta coughed a little, trying to get the words out of the traffic jam in his throat. He balled his hands into fists, knowing that every second he spent delaying what he should be saying is making things even more awkward. I need to keep going. I have to.

A sudden feeling of warmth enveloped his right fist, stopping his breath for a fleeting second. He looked down and saw Monika's hand atop it, her slender fingers curled lightly against his knuckles.

"It's okay. Keep going," she told him.

Slowly, Kenta unfurled his hand, which quivered beneath Monika's touch. Overcome with both apprehension and excitement, he plunged in gracelessly.

"Monika . . . you know what I'm t-talking about, right?" And who.

Seconds passed, but it felt like eternity in his mind, an eternity during which the fate of his world teetered perilously over a precipice.

As if she had read his mind about the part of his question that he left out, Monika said quietly, "Yes, Kenta. I know."

Gazing downwards, he let out a defeated sigh. Defeated, because he knew that whether he liked it or not, things would be changing from here on out. This was definitely it—the point of no return. Whatever Monika's next words would be, there was no taking back the implied meaning of what he had said thus far.

Instead of speaking, however, she stood up. Kenta got up along with her, and when he did, she guided him by the hand towards the piano in the corner of the entertainment room. He wondered for a moment what she would be doing until she let go of his hand to sit down in front of the piano. She lifted the cover off of the piano's keys, breathing deeply and flexing her fingers like she was preparing for a performance in front of an actual audience.

Wait, she can play the piano?!

"I want you to listen to something, okay? It's something I've been working on for a while now. It's not done yet, but . . . well, just listen to it!" she said with a giggle.

With that, she positioned her hands atop the piano keys, letting her fingers hover above them. Kenta stared at her, too dumbfounded to move or speak as he digested the idea that Monika can both write poetry and play the piano. Though piano music wasn't exactly a favorite of his, he found it rather relaxing at times, and he was more than willing to listen with his undivided attention if Monika was the one playing. For a few moments, Monika muttered under her breath and tapped at a few keys like a radio DJ doing a sound check, presumably trying to remember what notes she would be playing.

When she started playing for real, the first few notes made Kenta's eyes widen. The song's rhythm played on a slower pace, as if Monika was trying not to play too fast and mess up in the process, but she hit one note after another without any trouble, letting out a melodious tune that rang clearly against the walls of the entertainment room.

All of a sudden, Monika began to sing as she played. Kenta felt his heart beat faster as the piano's eloquent notes and her beautiful voice started working together in perfect harmony.

"Every day, I imagine a future where I can be with you.

In my hand is a pen that will write a poem of me and you.

The ink flows down into a dark puddle,

Just move your hand, write your way into his heart.

But in this world of infinite choices,

What will it take just to find that special day?

What will it take just to find . . . that special day?"

And with that, Monika finished playing. The spell of her music, however, lingered for a few seconds longer on Kenta's ears and mind. Monika brushed away a lock of hair from her face and turned to Kenta, giggling nervously.

"That was a song that I started working on during vacation," she stated. "Like I said, it's nowhere near done yet, but I'm planning on getting back to it sometime soon."

At last, Kenta found his voice again. "It's . . . r-really nice." he said. "I mean, if you composed that all by yourself, that's really impressive."

Monika shook her head. "Are you sure you're not saying that just to make me feel good about it?" she asked jokingly.

"No!" Kenta blurted out. "I mean, really, it was good! I was just s-surprised to learn that you can play the piano and w-write songs like that."

"Well, to tell you the truth, not many people know that I can play, just like how they don't know I write poems," said Monika, carefully closing the piano's cover. "Just a few of my friends and my parents know about it—Mom was the one who got me into it when I was still a kid, because she used to play as well. But none of them know that I wrote a song like that."

"Then w-why did you let me hear it?" asked Kenta nervously.

"Remember what I asked you to do? About telling someone special how you feel about them? I wanted to show someone special how I feel about them."

What the . . . ? "But I'm n-not someone special," he said almost instinctively.

Monika grinned, her gaze tinged with warmth. "You are, Kenta."

The world seemed to stand still at that moment. Monika's expression seemed to ease his heartbeat's rhythm down as the two of them looked at each other, sharing a profound, wordless exchange. This was not a statement that Kenta expected from Monika, even if it was something he should've anticipated with all the times they had bonded over the past month. In his ears rang Naoki's and Daisuke's words of encouragement about how he should try making a move, cheering him on while Monika's beautiful countenance stood before him, her emerald eyes looking upon him with genuine openness.

Monika went on, "You make me really happy when we spend time together, Kenta. I may not always show it, but there are times when I just want to crumble and collapse from all the things I contend with at school and here at home. My parents, the debate club, and everything else in between . . . it's more than I can handle. But when you hang around me and listen to me and appreciate what I have to say without doing so just to glorify me, when you support or help me in any way you can without the intention of solely gaining my favor, I no longer feel like I'm taken for granted. I feel like I can be myself without being dismissed just because people have grown used to me being perfect in their eyes for so long."

". . . B-But how can you be sure?" asked Kenta rather imploringly. "I mean, w-what if I am just being nice to you only t-to make you like me?"

Monika shook her head. "I've dealt with enough people to know that you're not doing that, Kenta. I've always seen it in your eyes. You're the kind of person who's willing to put aside what he wants in order to make others feel comfortable and happy, but you're also willing to show and tell how you really feel when people ask you about things like that. You know how to respond to others without taking your feelings or theirs for granted. There are very few people I know who are like that—my good friend Sayori is one of them, and I'm certain her best friend Akihiro can vouch for that—but you . . . you're different somehow, and I . . . I think that made you special from my perspective."

Though his insides felt like they were rising up in jubilation, Kenta was still too aghast to react accordingly. "M-Monika. . ."

"I'm sorry if this all seems too sudden, with everything I'm saying right now and me inviting you here at my house for today," she continued quietly. "I invited you here because . . . this is a place where I should feel comfortable and yet it's where I've always felt so alone. I figured that maybe . . . maybe with you being here, things would change. And I was right, they did."

Kenta scratched his head, trying to find the right words to say. "Why . . . Why are you t-telling me all these things?" he asked softly.

Monika put a hand on his arm. "Because I've kept quiet for too long about how I really feel, Kenta, and I've decided that I'm going to change that today, starting with you."

Inwardly, Kenta stumbled a little, taking in everything that was happening right now with increasing effort. It was so surreal, so hard to believe, and yet it made him incredibly happy. He sighed. "I'm . . . I'm sorry if I wasn't able to say what I should be saying a while ago. It's not like I was hiding it because I didn't want you to find out about it. I was just . . . scared, that's all. Scared of what you might think if you found out that . . . t-that . . ."

Monika caressed his arm softly, stalling his words. "I know that you like me, Kenta. Even if you don't say it, I see it whenever you're with me. But I just want you to know that it's okay if you want to show me that you like me. You don't have to be scared, okay? I won't avoid you or think less of you just because of your feelings for me."

Her hand trailed down until he felt her fingers intertwine with his. "Let's make a deal. From now on, you don't have to hide anything anymore from me, okay? Whatever it is that you're feeling or thinking, you can tell me, and it won't make things awkward, I swear. If you like me, then you can show me or tell me about it. And I . . . I'll do the same with you."

He swallowed anxiously. "'Do the same?' But you don't like me, right? N-Not in that way, at least!"

Monika grinned. He felt her hand squeeze his lightly. "Are you sure about that?"

Kenta's heart skipped a beat. Privately, he wondered whether or not his face was now the same color as his hair. In front of him, Monika blushed as well, but that only made her look even more beautiful. All he managed to do in response was to laugh nervously, and she laughed with him.

Monika stood up after a short while. Though she was still blushing, she had never looked so happy. "Let's go. We still have a poem to make, right?" she asked gaily.

Kenta grinned. "Y-Yeah, you got that right."