Fragments of a Smile

Aoi couldn't shake the weight of Haruki's words as she walked home from his apartment. The way he had retreated into himself, his voice so quiet yet so heavy, lingered in her thoughts like a haunting echo.

Her heart ached for him in ways she didn't fully understand. There was something about Haruki—something fragile yet unbreakable, like glass that had been cracked but refused to shatter. She wanted to reach out, to help him carry the weight he refused to share. But how could she, when he wouldn't even let her in?

As she turned the corner to her street, the thought struck her: maybe she didn't need to push. Maybe she just needed to show him that he wasn't as alone as he thought he was.

---

The next morning, Haruki was already regretting letting Aoi into his apartment. He hated how exposed it made him feel, as if she had seen parts of him that even he tried to ignore.

He walked to school with his headphones in, hoping to block out the world. But as he approached the school gate, he saw Aoi standing there, a small package in her hands.

"Morning," she said brightly, her smile as warm as the sun breaking through the clouds.

Haruki hesitated. "Morning," he mumbled, pulling out one earbud.

Aoi held out the package. "Here. It's for you."

He stared at it, confused. "Why?"

"Because I thought you might like it," she said simply, her voice light but her eyes searching his.

Haruki took the package reluctantly, his fingers brushing against hers for the briefest moment.

Inside was a small notebook, the cover adorned with delicate cherry blossoms. Haruki ran his fingers over the smooth surface, the gesture oddly grounding.

"You didn't have to—" he started, but Aoi cut him off.

"I wanted to," she said, her smile softening. "You're always drawing, so I thought you might want something new to work with. Or, you know, write in. Whatever you want."

Haruki looked down at the notebook, unsure of what to say. "Thanks," he muttered finally.

"You're welcome," Aoi replied, her tone cheerful but not overbearing.

For a moment, they stood in silence, the noise of the schoolyard fading into the background. Then the bell rang, and Aoi waved as she turned to head inside.

Haruki watched her go, the notebook clutched tightly in his hands.

---

That night, Haruki sat by his desk, the notebook open in front of him. The blank pages stared back at him, waiting.

He picked up his pencil, unsure of where to start. But instead of sketching, he began to write:

"Sometimes, people come into your life and remind you of what you've been missing. They don't fix you. They don't erase the pain. But for a moment, they make you feel like you're not alone."

The words surprised him, as if they had come from somewhere deeper than his conscious mind. He closed the notebook, his heart heavy yet lighter at the same time.

---

Aoi lay in bed that night, staring at the glow-in-the-dark stars on her ceiling. She thought about Haruki, the way his voice had softened when he thanked her, the faintest flicker of a smile on his face. It wasn't much, but it was something.

She reached for her notebook and wrote a single line before closing it again:

"Even the smallest crack can let the light in."

---