The Akari I was Ten Years Ago

 My first love began during the second semester of my second year in high school.

 It was at the most prestigious school in Tokyo, reserved for the privileged few. One day, our class welcomed a transfer student.

 I didn't know where he came from. His parents were a mystery, his background vague. But if he got into this school, he had to be from a family with influence, just like us.

 My family was steeped in the arts. My grandfather, who lived in the countryside, had once been a schoolteacher and a vocal coach. My father owned a renowned art gallery. My mother, originally of Chinese descent, had been an actress known in Chinese cinema.

 Naturally, I was one of the "ideal" students—good grades, active in school events, dressed stylishly, always surrounded by friends.

 Even our school uniforms were tailor-made by a prestigious designer in Tokyo. You could guess the price just by looking at them.

 In the first few days, I couldn't even remember the new boy's name. I was busy hanging out with my girlfriends and juggling club activities. I had no reason to notice him.

 But that changed.

 He was a stunning soccer player. Even someone like me, who barely cared for sports, found herself lingering after class just to watch him play.

 That day, it had just stopped raining.

 I passed by the field after school, looking for a clubmate, when I caught sight of Ryusei playing in a match against another class. His number 7 jersey clung to his rain-soaked frame. He ran with precision, moved with fluid grace, anticipated every move. The ball seemed like an extension of his body.

 When he scored the final goal, the whole field erupted.

 I stood frozen at the edge of the pitch.

 For the first time, my heart skipped a beat because of a single turn and pass.

 For the first time, I remembered his name.

 Takahashi Ryusei.

 Soon, I learned he was more than just athletic. He was brilliant. And he came from wealth.

 His family owned SHINSEI Serv, a major service corporation headquartered in Tokyo. Their name was on everything—from train stations and city halls to clinics and vending machines. You couldn't go anywhere without seeing it.

 With his looks, intelligence, and athletic prowess, Ryusei naturally became the center of attention. Every girl wanted to be close to him. But despite the popularity, he was hard to read.

 To me, he was just someone I occasionally glanced at.

 I wasn't interested in fan-girling or dreamy stares. I had my own passion to chase.

 Music had always been essential to my life. My grandfather, Takumi, now the owner of a small bookstore, had been the one to pass on that love to me. On weekends, I would sneak out to visit him in the countryside. With him, life felt peaceful. Especially when he let me play the old instruments stored in his shop, or when we sang together.

 In junior high, I joined the school music club and began to practice seriously. Music became my refuge, my voice.

 I spent hours in rehearsals, my fingers aching from endless practice. But the moment the melodies came alive, I felt as if I could fly.

 I trained relentlessly—partly for love, partly to prove that I could do what I loved, no matter how chaotic the world got.

 Our club often performed for the school on special occasions. I always felt a mix of excitement and nervousness before our shows.

 But secretly, I looked forward to seeing him.

 I can't explain it.

 During performances, my eyes would unconsciously search for him. Among the clapping, chatting students, I could only see Ryusei. He always stood out. His eyes sparkled with focus, his smile gentle—as if he were truly listening to my music.

 We were both well-known in school, and people started shipping us.

 Honestly, until then, I had never thought about romance. Music was my only love. But people loved the idea, maybe it would even get me noticed more, so I figured getting to know him wouldn't hurt. 

 Slowly, we started talking more outside class. At first, just brief chats between breaks. He was approachable, though there was something reserved in his demeanor—a quiet chill that made him hard to read.

 We began texting constantly. I'd wonder where he was, what he was doing… if he was thinking of me.

 Looking back, our messages had that sweetness of first love—good morning texts, random compliments, little jokes that made me smile like a fool.

 I never hesitated to reach out to him. I sent him good mornings and good nights every day, selfies from the studio, silly questions, and liked every photo of him and his soccer crew.

 Before I knew it, I started waiting for his replies. At first, I thought it was just the joy of being heard. But eventually, I wanted to be with him.

 We spent the early days wandering Tokyo. To my surprise, Ryusei didn't know the city well.

 He'd come from some rural town, relocated here after some big family change.

 It didn't bother me—in fact, it made me feel closer to him.

 We watched movies, walked through the city at night, had coffee at Starbucks, danced, hung out in pubs. We enjoyed it all, and before long, we realized how well we clicked.

 Still, I wanted to take him to a newly built bookstore that had opened a few years ago. Ryusei glanced around, and I couldn't help but wonder what kind of books a top student like him would be into. 

I had vaguely heard of his father's company before, which is powerful and rich.

 Would he be interested in economics, perhaps?

 "Do you like books?" I asked him once.

 His answer wasn't cold, but neither was it particularly enthusiastic. "Just looking around."

I didn't expect him to care much for a little bookstore like this, but he listened attentively as I rambled on about the books I loved.

 Apparently, Ryusei didn't need to bury himself in study materials to score high. He was simply born gifted.

 "This section has a lot of academic references," I said, pointing to a shelf. "They're all brand new, very different from what my grandfather Takumi's bookstore carries."

 "I see... So you come here often. Definitely different from that place," Ryusei muttered as he looked around, the empty store making him appear oddly cautious and unfamiliar. It made me laugh.

 "This place has more music theory books too. And..." I stretched on my toes to reach for a book high on the shelf. "Let me get this one for you."

 Ryusei reached from behind me and easily plucked the book from the shelf.

 "What's this?" he flipped it open, reading with quiet focus. I froze, realizing how close we were—close enough to touch.

 "Economics," I murmured, eyes locked on him, my heart skipping a beat.

 He skimmed the page lazily and shrugged. "Economics, huh…" Then, without a second glance, he slipped it back on the shelf. Our eyes met. One hand rested near my head, bracing against the shelf.

 "I'd rather read philosophy."

 We stood there, a breath apart, eyes locked. Then:

 "Let's go explore more."

 I laughed. He always had this way of catching me off guard, probably without even knowing it.

 We wandered the streets, stopping now and then for snacks or milk tea. During those moments, it felt like the world had shrunk to just the two of us. Ryusei seemed to enjoy the spots I brought him to, especially the streets bathed in soft golden light in the late afternoon.

 One particular memory stood out. We were passing a small street-side stall near the park when Ryusei turned to me and asked:

"Choco Monaka. You like it?"

"Choco Monaka?" I blinked up at him, intrigued. "What's that?"

He grinned mischievously and pointed at a nearby cart. "You have to try it. It's amazing."

So we bought one—crispy wafer on the outside, sweet chocolate ice cream within. I couldn't stop smiling as I took the first bite. The sweetness wasn't just from the dessert—it was the memory of discovering Tokyo with him.

We sat on the steps of a nearby building, and I talked endlessly about random things. Ryusei listened quietly, eyes never leaving me. The way he looked at me... I couldn't explain it. I just felt safe.

"Do you like it?" he asked.

"I love it," I said honestly, savoring the last bite.

He smiled, soft and genuine. "You have to try everything once."

Since then, Choco Monaka became my favorite snack. Every bite reminded me of our first day exploring Tokyo together.

We had been dating for half a year. It was a time full of firsts—sunset strolls, late-night chats, weekend movies. Moments that felt so sweet, so simple, that I thought they'd last forever.

Everyone at school knew. They teased, congratulated, and rooted for our teenage romance. That first love burned quietly but deeply within me, rooting itself in my heart.

It was sweet... but maybe, inevitably, painful too…

Oh—and there was one thing I almost forgot to mention.

 Besides that passionate first love, there was another moment of emotion. Not from my heart, but from something deeper. Something still.

 I used to sneak back to my grandfather Takumi's bookstore every weekend, craving the familiar comfort and nostalgia of that place. And that's where I met him—Mamoru Hiroki.

I remembered his name immediately. Maybe because of his tousled blonde hair, impossible to forget. Or maybe because of the way he looked at me.

It wasn't admiration or curiosity. It was just… quiet. As if he, too, was hiding something deep inside, the same way I hid behind my music.

Hiroki carried a strange air. Quiet, distant—as if life had never allowed him to smile freely.

Every time we crossed paths in the bookstore, we would glance at each other and then silently return to our own worlds.

But then one day, he sang.

And suddenly, I froze. His voice... it reached someplace tender within me.

Some people make your heart flutter with laughter, with words, with a touch. Hiroki made mine flutter through silence.

His voice wasn't polished. It wasn't technically perfect. But it was real—aching and gentle. It made me stop everything just to listen.

I wouldn't call it love. But I knew I had felt something.

I remembered another girl from back then—across the street, bluish-blue hair fluttering in the breeze, eyes shimmering with sorrow.

I never knew who she was. But when she ran off, Hiroki looked like he'd lost something important...

The next day, my parents moved us from Osaka to Tokyo for good. The transition was sudden—like the feeling he stirred in me.

That night, we sat on the bookstore steps and said goodbye. I knew I wouldn't return. And just like that, the fragile connection between us vanished into an unfinished note.

At the same time, things between Ryusei and me began to shift. He became distant, distracted. Sometimes he wouldn't respond to my messages.

I didn't press. I figured he had his reasons—maybe things he wasn't ready to share.

But still, I couldn't help wondering: Was I a priority to him? Or just another side story in his life?

I learned there had been a girl. Someone from his past he hadn't completely let go of.

For weeks, I wrestled with doubt, confusion, and longing. At school, Ryusei didn't avoid me, but there was a new kind of distance between us.

It was as if some shadowy presence of another girl always hovered near. Were they the same person? Or someone I imagined—some reflection of myself?

I couldn't tell anymore.

I hadn't realized it yet, but I had walked right into the tangled triangle of three broken hearts…

….

 It happened on a windless day. Sunlight slanted gently onto the school field. I sat alone on the familiar bleachers, waiting in silence, my mind clouded by Ryusei's recent distance.

 Spectators were starting to leave the stands, but the air still buzzed with the echo of victory. 

 Ryusei had just won the final match. The team erupted in celebration. He raised the medal high, biting it playfully in a show of triumph. Cheers exploded around him, teammates clapping him on the back, the crowd chanting his name.

 And then—

 his eyes found mine across the sea of people.

 My fingers tightened around the worn edge of a white towel. Ryusei stepped away from the crowd, still panting, his forehead glistening with sweat. Without a word, he approached, unhooked the medal from around his neck, and gently placed it around mine.

 The crowd burst into teasing cheers and whistles, but I barely heard them.

 I stood, reached up, and slowly wiped the sweat from his brow. The motion felt so familiar, as if I had done it countless times before. My hand paused in his damp hair, and our eyes locked.

 "Akari," he whispered, voice husky, "I'm sorry."

 I froze. "Sorry... for what?"

 The look in his eyes was raw—unfiltered, sincere.

 "For making you doubt. But I care about you. Only you."

 And then, softly—like a breeze passing through—Ryusei leaned in and kissed me. It was gentle. Real. The towel still clung loosely to his hair, sun-warmed and damp. But everything about that moment felt achingly true. I wasn't sure whether to open my eyes or keep them closed forever. I only knew—my heart skipped in a way it never had before.

 I had fallen in love.