MEETING OF AN UNEXPECTED ONE

The last bell of the day rang out in sharp contrast to the others. Just as Haruki Takashi pulled his bag over his shoulder, his dark eyes quickly took in the busy corridor alongside Hiroshi. There was no mistaking the flash of joy that greeted their entrance into the corridor- home to radiating students, except for those displaying signs of exhaustion, or rather boredom for a few like Haruki. 

He felt a familiar weight in his chest of an unoccupied day at his chest as he walked with Hiroshi to the College playground to find Fujimaru.

Alive with activity, it reeked of dust and grass, stirred this time by students dragging tables and shouting over the clangor of competition preparations.

Hiroshi saw Fujimaru in the crowd and waved, shouting over them. "Fujimaru! Here!"

Fujimaru ran up, grinning broadly although sweat glittered on his brow. "Yo! How was class?" He glanced towards the students at work nearby, where Rin directed a group, strength emanating from her being as always.

Hiroshi's eyes lingered on the ground and then noticed her. "She's here too?"

"Naturally. She was talking to our class about the competition. She's in it." Haruki's voice was emotionless, almost not intrested.

He looked away through the window, keeping his eyes fixed on a girl standing by Rin with long purple hair that hung softly against the dimming sun and quiet blue eyes of intensity. There was some flicker of memory jogging him, but he forced it down. 

Hiroshi caught his gaze and smiled, patting Haruki's shoulder playfully. "Dude, who's got your eye this time? Did someone in the whole college actually get through to you?"

Haruki shrugged his hand off, a twinkle of irritation. "No one in particular. What are you two up to?"

Fujimaru's smile broadened. "Having a lot of work over here. I'll lend a hand in setting up."

"I'll stick around and supervise Fujimaru," Hiroshi said, his tone casual but the look he gave Rin belied his intent. "Or help, I guess."

"Supervise me, or someone else?"

Fujimaru's cheeks flushed and he snapped back, "Whatever man. Don't be a bone in my neck, Okay.."

"Okay, okay, no more teasing," Fujimaru said, chuckling, though Hiroshi's glare suggested he didn't believe it.

Their banter consumed them, and they didn't notice Haruki slip away, his steps silent as he left the chaotic playground behind. Fujimaru glanced around, frowning. "Wait, where'd Haruki go? We got so caught up we didn't even see him leave."

Hiroshi sighed, his voice edged with frustration. "Whatever. He's just an idiot. Thinks he's better than us because he's some so-called 'classified genius.' No reality check."

Fujimaru's expression softened, his hand resting on Hiroshi's shoulder. "Haruki's our friend. He's just… lost his way. Apathetic, introverted, that's all."

Hiroshi's tension eased slightly. "Yeah, maybe you're right." They turned back to the competition setup, their voices fading as Haruki's figure vanished down the path.

Haruki reached the PG after a walk, and headed towards his room to open the door.

Haruki's Calm poise still enveloped the room, every book and pen organized. After dropping his bag at the desk, he laid down on his bed. The silence around him felt suffocating. 

Am I like this room? Stagnant? A voice, chill and lifeless rang in his mind , You can change, but at what cost? You'd lose yourself and become fake, for them.

Nodding instinctively, sharp bitterness coated his thoughts. "Yes you're right… It is foolish to think that I can change." 

The clock read 7:00 PM. With an hour before dinner, he had time at hand for revision too. Pulling out all of his notes enabled equations to ground him while blurring away reality until checking the time revealed 10:00 PM. He missed dinner.

A familiar wave of self loathing set in—always the same, money wasted, time wasted. Books closed, lights off and crawled into bed. To tire himself out, he scrolled through Instagram reels and YouTube shorts, their fleeting rush a hollow distraction. I know this is meaningless, he thought, but it's the only way I can sleep.

As he drifted off, a dream enveloped him—a black void where a voice repeated, relentless: You're an idiot who doesn't deserve to live. He wandered, weightless, trapped in the words' echo. When his eyes snapped open, tears wet his right cheek. He sat up, heart pounding, the room dim in the morning light. "This dream again," he whispered, voice trembling. "It's been so long."

He dragged himself to the bathroom, splashing cold water on his face. His reflection stared back, hollow, dark circles framing his eyes. His stomach growled, a sharp reminder he'd skipped dinner—and now breakfast. More money down the drain, he thought, bitterness rising as he slung his bag over his shoulder, grabbed his ID card, and locked the room.

The streets of Tokyo hummed with morning life as he walked to college. On the footpath, beggars huddled, hands outstretched, their faces etched with desperation. Near them stood the purple-haired girl from the playground, her blue eyes soft as she offered them her lunch. Why help them? They can earn money by there own and also can eat by there own money.. Haruki thought.

They could work, earn their own food. They're not broken.

And when he passed them he ignored them fully and not even look at them and then.

A sudden scream pierced the air. Haruki glanced back to see a stray dog lunging at the girl, drawn by the food's scent. She stumbled, her lunch box crashing to the ground, rice and vegetables spilling into the dirt. The dog began to eat, but a beggar kicked it away and scrambled for the soiled food. Haruki's lip curled. They just want to survive. Their instincts drown out logic.

He sighed and stepped toward them, his voice cold. "You guys are really miserable." Then he turned to the girl, struggling to stand, her ankle scratched from the fall. He extended a hand. "Take my hand and help yourself". he thinks, i am just doing what normal humans do but i still feeling an unnatural happiness in my mind Is it because of the when we helped people we feel happy?.

She smiled faintly, grabbing his hand and standing, wincing as she brushed dirt from her clothes. "Thank you for your help."

Haruki shrugged, his tone clipped. "Hmm, okay." He freed his hand and started walking away.

A voice called after him. "By the way, what's your name?"

He kept moving, ignoring her. She quickened her pace, wincing from her scratched ankle, and caught up. "I'm Miyu, Miyu Haruno," she said, a teasing smile breaking through. "So, what's your name? Don't ignore me—it's rude when a maiden like me is trying to ask you something."

Haruki glanced at her, his expression flat. "It's Haruki. Haruki Takashi." His voice carried no warmth, no interest in continuing the conversation.

"Oh, wow, what a beautiful name!" Miyu said, undeterred.

They reached the college gate, and Haruki sped up, putting distance between them. Talking to a stranger—especially a girl—felt like standing on a razor's edge, his chest tight with unease. 

He entered the classroom with a sigh, sinking into his usual last bench. The solitude was a relief, a shield against the world's noise. Moments later, Hiroshi and Fujimaru burst in, their laughter filling the room.