Shy Girl

#Chapter 4💝

The weeks leading up to the school festival were a blur of nervous energy and shifting dynamics at North High. Since Haruki’s confrontation in the music room, a strange sort of peace had settled over the third floor. The piano had been meticulously cleaned, its black surface once again reflecting the golden afternoon light like a dark mirror. Miyu practiced every day, her fingers gaining a confidence they had never possessed before. Haruki was always there, leaning against the instrument or sitting on the floor nearby, his presence a silent anchor. However, as the festival date appeared on the calendar for the following month, a new problem arose: the performance required formal attire.

"I don't have anything to wear," Miyu whispered one afternoon, her eyes fixed on the ivory keys. "The only dress I own is... from before. It’s too small, and it’s stained from the kitchen."

Haruki, who had been tossing a tennis ball against his palm, stopped mid-motion. He looked at Miyu, noting the way her brown hair fell softly over her shoulders and how her brown school uniform, though neat, was worn at the edges. "I might have a solution for that," Haruki said, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "I have a cousin. She’s in our grade, actually, but she spends most of her time in the home economics lab or her private studio. She’s... well, she’s a bit of a force of nature. But she’s the best seamstress I know. She’s obsessed with fashion and making 'the perfect costume' for every occasion."

Miyu felt a familiar pang of anxiety. "A stranger? Haruki-kun, I don't think I can—"

"Don't worry," he laughed, standing up and patting her back gently to reassure her. "She’s family. And she’s been dying to meet the girl who finally got me to join the Music Club."

The following Saturday, Haruki led Miyu to a bright, sunlit studio on the outskirts of town. The sign outside read *Sato Designs*. As soon as they stepped inside, they were greeted by the frantic whirring of a sewing machine and the smell of expensive silk. A girl with sharp, intelligent eyes and a measuring tape draped around her neck like a royal stole bounded toward them. This was **Hina Sato**, Haruki’s cousin.

Hina didn't say hello. Instead, she stood perfectly still, her eyes widening as she observed Miyu. She began to circle her like a predator observing a particularly adorable piece of prey. She whipped the measuring tape off her neck with a flourish, the yellow plastic snapping in the air. "Oh... my... goodness," Hina breathed, her hands clasped together. "Haruki, you didn't tell me she was this precious! Look at those eyes! That shy expression! She’s like a porcelain doll come to life. She’s the ultimate muse!"

"Hina, breathe," Haruki sighed, though he looked at Miyu with a proud smile. "This is Miyu Nakamura. She’s the pianist I told you about. She needs a dress for the festival next month."

"A dress? No, no, no," Hina wagged a finger. "She needs a *masterpiece*. She needs to be my official model! I’ve been looking for someone with this specific 'innocent but melancholic' aura for my winter collection. Miyu-chan! You must let me dress you! We are going to be best friends—I’ve already decided!"

Miyu’s face turned bright red, her fingers twisting in the fabric of her skirt. "I... I’m not a model, Sato-san. I just need something simple. Something that doesn't stand out."

"Nonsense!" Hina cried, already beginning to wrap the measuring tape around Miyu’s waist. "Standing out is the entire point of being on stage! Now, stand still. Don't worry, I won't bite—much."

Before Miyu could protest further, Hina was a whirlwind of motion. She was eccentric, humming odd tunes as she measured the span of Miyu’s shoulders and the length of her arms. Every few seconds, she would let out a small gasp of delight. "I... I really don't like being the center of attention," Miyu whispered, looking pleadingly at Haruki.

Haruki stepped forward, about to intervene, but Hina held up the tape measure like a scepter. "Hush, Haruki. The artist is working. Miyu-chan, think of it as a costume. When you wear my clothes, you aren't 'Shy Miyu' anymore. You’re the Melody of the Festival. Besides, look at how Haruki is looking at you. He wants you to shine, too."

Miyu glanced at Haruki and saw him blush slightly, rubbing the back of his neck. He didn't disagree. Miyu sighed, her resistance crumbling under Hina’s infectious energy. "Fine... but please, nothing too flashy."

"I make no promises!" Hina chirped, heading over to a rack of fabrics. She pulled out a bolt of deep, midnight-blue silk. "Yes... this is the one. It will look like the night sky." While Hina began sketching furiously, she looked up and softened her expression. "By the way, Miyu-chan... I wanted to thank you."

Miyu blinked, confused. "Thank me? For what?"

"For taking care of this big dummy," Hina gestured toward Haruki. "Since his mother passed, Haruki hasn't really... cared about things. But since he met you, he’s actually stayed in one place. You’ve been taking such good care of his heart."

Miyu shook her head vigorously. "No! That’s not true! I haven't done anything like that. If anything, Haruki-kun is the one taking care of me."

Hina paused, looking at Miyu with a knowing, gentle smile. "Miyu-chan, the best kind of care is the kind you don't even realize you're giving. Don't bother arguing with me about it—I’m a Sato, and we never listen when we know we're right."

As they left the studio later that day, Miyu looked back at the window. She could see Hina already waving her tape measure in the air, deep in thought. For the first time, Miyu felt the spark of a true friendship, one that would last far beyond the school.

The Monday following the visit to Hina’s studio felt different. For the first time, Miyu didn't feel like a ghost wandering the halls of North High. She had a secret—a blue silk dress in progress and a friend who spoke in exclamation points. However, the reality of her home life remained a jagged contrast to the warmth she found at school.

That morning, Mrs. Tamaki had been particularly cruel. She had intentionally "tripped" while holding a tray of laundry Miyu had just folded, forcing the girl to start the entire process over and miss her usual breakfast. Miyu’s stomach growled as she sat through her morning history lecture, her head feeling light and dizzy.

When the lunch bell rang, Miyu tried to stand, but the world tilted. She gripped the edge of her desk, her knuckles white.

"Miyu? You okay?"

She looked up to see Hina standing there. Hina was wearing her usual eccentric flair—a bright pink ribbon tied to her tape measure, which was wrapped around her wrist like a bracelet. She had transferred into Miyu’s elective class, and true to her word, she hadn't left Miyu’s side since the weekend.

"I'm just... a little tired," Miyu whispered, her face pale.

Hina narrowed her eyes, stepping closer. "You look like you're about to vanish into thin air. Did you eat?"

Miyu didn't answer, which was an answer in itself. Hina let out a huff of indignation. "That stepmother of yours... Haruki told me she’s a piece of work. Right, that settles it. You’re coming with me to the cafeteria, and I’m buying you the biggest bowl of udon they have."

"I can't," Miyu protested weakly. "I need to practice. Haruki-kun is waiting in the music room."

"He can wait," Hina said, grabbing Miyu’s hand. "He’d be more upset if you fainted over the keys."

As they walked through the bustling cafeteria, Miyu felt the familiar weight of stares. But Hina walked with her head held high, occasionally whipping her tape measure out to "measure" the distance between them and any student who stared too long. It was ridiculous and embarrassing, but it made Miyu want to giggle for the first time in years.

They found Haruki already seated at a table in the corner—his usual "popular" table was empty, as he had started sitting away from the crowd to wait for Miyu. When he saw them, his eyes immediately locked onto Miyu’s pale face. He stood up, his chair scraping against the floor.

"What happened?" he asked, his voice sharp with concern.

"She’s running on empty, Haruki," Hina said, pushing Miyu into a seat. "Stay here. I’m getting the food."

Haruki sat down across from Miyu, his brow furrowed. He reached across the table, his hand hovering over hers before he gently patted the back of her hand. "Miyu, you have to tell me when things are bad at home. I know you’re shy, but I can’t protect you if I don't know what’s happening."

"It’s okay," Miyu said, her voice trembling. "It’s just... she was angry today. I don't want to cause trouble for you or Kenji."

"You aren't trouble," Haruki said firmly. He looked at her, his eyes filled with a soft, romantic intensity that made Miyu’s heart skip a beat. "You're the most important part of my day. If she’s hurting you, we’ll find a way to stop it. I promise."

Hina returned with a tray of steaming food, slamming it down with a grin. "Eat! And while you eat, I have news. The festival committee has decided on the theme: *'Echoes of the Heart.'* It’s perfect for your song, Miyu!"

As Miyu began to eat, the warmth of the soup and the company of her two friends began to heal the bruises on her spirit. They talked about the festival, Hina’s design ideas, and the track meet Haruki had coming up. For an hour, the world was kind.

However, the peace was interrupted by a shadow falling over the table.

Rina Takahashi stood there, her arms crossed. She looked at Hina with disdain. "So, the mouse found a new pet? And Haruki, I can't believe you're still wasting your time here. The coach is looking for you. You're falling behind on your splits."

Haruki didn't even look up from his conversation with Miyu. "The coach knows where I am, Rina. And I’m not falling behind. If anything, I’m faster because I have something to run *toward* now."

Rina’s face flushed with anger. She looked at Miyu, her eyes narrowing. "Enjoy it while it lasts, Nakamura. The festival is a big stage. People like you usually freeze under the lights. I’d hate to see you embarrass Haruki in front of the whole school."

Rina turned and swept away, but the venom in her words lingered. Miyu put her chopsticks down, her appetite vanishing.

"Don't listen to her," Hina said, reaching over to pat Miyu’s shoulder. "She’s just jealous because she doesn't have a melody of her own. Besides, with the dress I’m making, you’ll be so beautiful everyone will forget how to breathe, let alone judge you."

Haruki leaned in, his voice a low, comforting hum. "I’ll be right there on the side of the stage, Miyu. Every time you feel scared, just look at me. I’ll be the one cheering the loudest."

Miyu looked at her friends—the boy who had saved her and the girl who was becoming her sister. She felt a surge of determination. She wouldn't let Rina win. She wouldn't let her stepmother win. She would play that song, for Haruki’s mother, for Haruki, and for the girl she was becoming.

"I'll do it," Miyu whispered, her voice small but certain. "I'll play the best I ever have."

Hina let out a cheer, waving her tape measure like a flag, while Haruki smiled that cute, lopsided smile that always made Miyu feel like she was home. The festival was still weeks away, but the echoes of their hearts were already beginning to harmonize.