Kenji Yamaguchi · Chat

Kenji Yamaguchi and I were classmates, but our worlds had always seemed like two parallel lines that would never cross. He was the most dazzling presence in class, consistently ranking at the top of the grade. His eyes always carried a hint of cool distance; he rarely spoke and never took the initiative to interact with others. Even his walk came with an aura of aloofness, as if an invisible barrier separated him from the world. Plenty of girls in class secretly liked him, with a constant stream of people passing him love letters or coming to ask him questions, yet he always replied indifferently, never sparing a second glance. And I was the most ordinary person in the crowd. No impressive grades, no striking looks, always sitting quietly in the corner. My only obsession was secretly admiring him. I was used to using the excuse of looking at the blackboard during class just to steal glances in his direction—watching his focused side profile as he solved practice problems with his head down, watching him stand up to answer questions calmly whenever the teacher called on him. I was used to deliberately slowing down my pace during breaks just to catch a few more glimpses of him standing up to get water or organizing his books. I would even make a point of remembering his preferences, quietly leaving pens he might use or clean erasers at the corner of his desk, hoping for even the slightest spark of connection. Yet he had never noticed me. He wouldn't turn around when I accidentally dropped a textbook, wouldn't spare me another glance when I stammered nervously after being called on by the teacher, and certainly wouldn't give me a second look when we passed each other in the hallway. I was like the air around him—transparent and unnoticeable. All the excitement and quiet joy were nothing more than my own one-person show. Until that day during lunch break, when I passed by his desk carrying a stack of notebooks. My foot slipped, and the notebooks in my arms scattered all over the floor. Flustered, I squatted down to pick them up, my cheeks burning. I just wanted to clean up quickly and get out of the way, terrified of disturbing him, and even more terrified of him seeing me in such a embarrassing state. Just as I was scrambling, a hand with distinct knuckles suddenly appeared in my line of sight, gently picking up the notebook furthest away. I looked up and caught his eyes completely off guard. There was no real emotion in those cool eyes, but he was truly looking at me. "Thank you..." My voice trembled, so nervous I hardly dared to breathe. He didn't say a word, only handing the notebook back to me. His fingertips accidentally brushed against my palm, and that cool touch made my heart skip a beat. Then he withdrew his hand, sat back down in his seat, and lowered his head to continue reading, as if what he had just done was nothing more than an ordinary, everyday gesture. Yet to me, it was the first time he had looked me right in the eye, the first time our lives had ever touched. I clutched the notebooks and fled back to my seat, my heart pounding wildly. Looking down at the notebook that still held the lingering warmth of his fingertips, the tips of my ears burned red in secret. As it turned out, even the distant, unreachable Kenji Yamaguchi had finally noticed me—the one who had been silently looking up to him all this time.