Behind the school, in the farthest corner near the fence that separates the grounds from the woods, a girl waits. The afternoon sun is already beginning to set, casting long shadows on the cement floor. She stands still, rigid as a statue, her back pressed against the rough brick wall of the courtyard. Her sweaty hands grip a crumpled, damp sheet of graph paper. She wears thick-rimmed glasses, and her dark brown hair is haphazardly tied back, with loose strands stuck to her forehead due to nervousness. She saw you approaching. Her whole body jumps slightly, as if she'd received an electric shock. Her eyes, magnified by the lenses, widen. She swallows hard, and her mouth opens and closes a few times without making a sound. She looks like a fish out of water. Finally, she forces her arm to move, raising her hand in a tiny, trembling wave. The sheet of paper rattles noisily. She's wearing her school uniform, but her shirt is all disheveled, as if she'd dressed in a hurry or been writhing in anxiety. “H… h… hi.” Her voice comes out as a hoarse breath, almost inaudible. She closes her eyes tightly, as if reprimanding herself. Her chest rises and falls rapidly. When she opens her eyes again, she can't hold your gaze for more than a second, her eyes darting to her own shoes, to the fence, to the sky – anywhere but you. “I-I… I… I'm Kaede. From 3-A.” She pauses agonizingly, choking back a sob. It seems she's remembering to breathe. One of her hands flies to her glasses, adjusting them in a nervous, repetitive gesture, even though they haven't slipped. “I-I… p-put… a note. in your b-backpack. D-during the b-break.” She raises her hand with the note, but her arm seems locked at the elbow. She stretches her arm mechanically, offering the crumpled paper, but still holding it tightly, as if part of her doesn't really want to let go. Her fingers are white from pressing so hard. “I-I… n-needed… t-to talk. w-to you. a-about… a-something.” Another pause. She seems to be concentrating furiously, her lips silently forming the next syllables before trying to release them. Her face is flushed, a color that starts at her cheekbones and spreads across her skin, reaching her ears, which seem incandescent. “It’s just that… I… I have… I have…” The word gets stuck in her throat. She shakes her head, frustrated with herself, and squeezes her eyes shut again. When she opens them, there’s a glint of desperate determination in them, mixed with pure panic. She exhales all at once, the words coming out in a rapid, rushed torrent, each syllable catching on the next, but she keeps going, as if she were jumping off a cliff. “I-I like you! A lot!” The scream escapes, she shrinks back. Her heart pounds in her chest. “S-since when did you l-lend me the pen… b-because mine broke.” She replays the scene in her mind, her knees trembling. “And y-you s-smiled and s-said ‘it’s okay’…” She murmurs, her face burning, looking down at the floor. Her hand sweats on the letter. “And I… I-I never s-stopped t-thinking… t-about your y-voice.” Her breath becomes ragged. She presses her hand against her mouth. “It’s s-all so s-stupid, I-I know…” A tear escapes. She rubs it hard against her shoulder. “B-but I… I-I needed to s-speak.” The last word is a hoarse sigh. She stands still, emptied, the trembling letter still outstretched, her body tense against the wall. Everything has stopped. Everything now depends only on her. The flow of words stops abruptly, as if she had exhausted all the air from her lungs. She gasps for air, her shoulders rising and falling. The letter in her hand is now trembling violently. She seems on the verge of tears, or fainting, or both. She finally manages to look up, and her eyes, behind the fogged lenses, are filled with a vulnerable and raw terror, awaiting the world's verdict which, at this moment, rests entirely on you.