Shy Girl

Chapter 2💞

The following morning, the sun felt a little less heavy on Miyu’s shoulders, though the dread of her home life remained a constant, cold companion. She had barely slept. Every time she closed her eyes, she felt the warmth of Haruki’s hand on her arm and heard the way he said her name—like a secret he was happy to keep.

"Miyu! Are you deaf as well as slow?"

The sharp bark of her stepmother, Mrs. Tamaki, shattered her thoughts. Miyu was currently kneeling on the hardwood floor of the hallway, polishing the wood with a rag that was starting to fray.

"I’m sorry, Mother," Miyu whispered, her head bowing lower.

"The tea is cold, and your stepbrother is already waiting at the door. If you make Kenji late for his morning club, I’ll ensure you spend your weekend scrubbing the garden stones instead of hiding in that room of yours."

Miyu scrambled to her feet, her joints popping from the chill of the morning. She hurried to the kitchen, grabbed her bag, and met Kenji at the door. He looked at her with a mixture of pity and a quiet, suppressed anger toward his mother.

"You don't have to run, Miyu," Kenji said softly as they stepped out into the crisp air. "I'd never let her punish you for my schedule. You look tired. Did you... did you meet someone at school yesterday?"

Miyu flinched, her face heating up instantly. "No! I mean... I just found a place to practice. A piano."

Kenji smiled, a genuine, rare expression. "That’s good. You always were better at speaking through music than words. Just be careful. Don't let the popular kids find your hiding spot; they can be loud."

Miyu nodded, but her heart did a nervous somersault. A "popular kid" had already found her. And he was the loudest, brightest star in the entire school.

At North High, the atmosphere was electric. It was the day of the first inter-school track meet trials, and the hallways were decorated with banners. Miyu tried to blend into the shadows, moving like a ghost through the crowded corridors. She felt the weight of stares she didn't understand.

"Is that her?"

"The one who was talking to Haruki-kun yesterday?"

"No way, she looks so plain. She’s like a mouse."

Miyu lowered her head until her brown hair acted as a shield. She didn't understand how word had spread so fast. She had only spoken to him for two minutes! She felt a cold prickle of anxiety. She wasn't used to being noticed; notice usually meant trouble.

By the time recess arrived, Miyu was exhausted from the mental strain of avoiding eye contact. Her instinct told her to run to the school gates and hide, but her heart pulled her in a different direction: the third-floor music room.

She climbed the stairs slowly. Part of her hoped he wouldn't be there. Part of her was terrified that he *would* be.

When she pushed open the oak door, the room was empty. The golden dust motes danced in the silence. Miyu let out a long, shaky breath of relief—and perhaps a tiny bit of disappointment. She walked to the grand piano and saw the crumpled staff paper still sitting on the music stand.

She sat down and looked at the notes. They were handwritten, with little corrections and smudges of ink. It was a melody that felt incomplete, like a sentence that ended with a comma instead of a period.

"I wondered if you'd come."

Miyu nearly fell off the bench. She whirled around to see Haruki leaning against the doorframe. He wasn't in his track suit today; he was wearing the school’s brown uniform, the shirt crisp and the trousers perfectly tailored to his long legs. He had a cute, lopsided smile on his face—the kind of smile that made his eyes shine with a hidden light.

"H-Haruki-kun!" Miyu gasped, her hands clutching her skirt. Her brown short boots clicked nervously against the floor.

"You remember my name. That's a start," he laughed, walking toward her. He didn't stop until he was standing right beside the piano bench. He smelled like peppermint and the outdoors. "I saw you in the hall earlier. You looked like you wanted the floor to swallow you whole."

"I... people were talking," Miyu whispered, looking at her white socks. "I don't like being noticed."

Haruki sighed, sitting down on the very edge of the piano bench next to her. The space between them was barely an inch. Miyu could feel the heat of his presence, and her heart began to beat in time with a frantic allegro.

"They talk because they're bored," Haruki said, his voice dropping to a gentle, serious tone. "Ignore them. I only care about what’s on that paper. And the person who can bring it to life."

He reached out and touched the corner of the sheet music. "My mom... she was a composer. This was the last piece she worked on before she got too sick to sit at the bench. She called it 'The Unfinished Sky.' She told me that one day, I’d find the person who knew how to finish it."

Miyu looked at the notes again. She saw the pain in the melody, but she also saw a hidden joy—the love of a mother for her son. "It’s beautiful," Miyu said, her shyness momentarily forgotten in the face of the music. "But it's missing the bridge. It needs a voice to carry the emotion where the keys can’t reach."

Haruki looked at her, his eyes wide with wonder. "Then sing it, Miyu. Please."

"I can't! Not with you watching!"

"I'll close my eyes," he promised, and he did, leaning his head back against the wood of the piano.

Miyu hesitated. She looked at his peaceful face, the way his dark lashes rested against his cheeks. He looked so vulnerable, so different from the "famous athlete" everyone else saw. Slowly, she turned to the keys.

She played the opening chords—soft, like a heartbeat. Then, she began to sing. Her voice was a soft, melodic amber, filling the room with the story of a sky that never ended. She sang about the stars his mother must have seen, and the love that stayed behind even when the person was gone.

As she reached the final note, she felt a hand over hers on the keys.

She stopped, breathless. Haruki hadn't just opened his eyes; he was looking at her with an intensity that made her entire world tilt. He reached out, his hand trembling slightly, and tucked a stray lock of her brown hair behind her ear.

"You're amazing," he whispered. "You found the bridge."

Before Miyu could respond, the door to the music room slammed open with a violent *bang*.

"Haruki! What are you doing in here with *this*?"

A tall girl with long, perfectly styled hair stood in the doorway. It was Rina Takahashi. She was beautiful, but her eyes were cold, darting between Haruki and Miyu with a venomous glare. She marched into the room, her heels clicking like a death march.

"Rina? I’m busy," Haruki said, his voice turning sharp and defensive as he stood up, instinctively stepping in front of Miyu.

"Busy? You missed lunch with the team for a girl who looks like she belongs in the lost and found?" Rina laughed, but there was no humor in it. She looked at Miyu, her lip curling in disgust. "Listen, New Girl. Haruki belongs to the track team—and to me. Don't think for a second that playing a few notes makes you special. You’re just a distraction he doesn't need."

Miyu felt the old, familiar weight of her stepmother’s cruelty echoing in Rina’s words. She felt small. She felt worthless. Without a word, she grabbed her bag and bolted.

"Miyu, wait!" Haruki called out, but Rina grabbed his arm, pulling him back.

Miyu didn't stop until she reached the rooftop, her lungs burning and tears blurring her vision. She had known it was too good to be true. Someone like Haruki Saito could never truly be friends with someone like her. The world of the bright and the popular was a place where she would always be an outsider.

But as she sat against the cold metal fence, she realized she was still clutching the piece of sheet music. Haruki had tucked it into her bag before she ran.

On the back, in his messy, hurried handwriting, were four words:

*Don't give up. -H*