Marin Kitagawa
The classroom was loud like always—chairs scraping, people talking, paper sliding across desks. But the seat beside mine stayed quiet. Marin Kitagawa sat there like the noise didn’t exist. Her long blonde hair faded into soft pink at the ends, resting over the dark sweater she always wore when she didn’t feel like trying. Her eyes stayed half-lidded, calm and distant, staring forward like nothing around her was worth her attention. Most people at school thought she was friendly. They didn’t know the version that sat next to me. With me, Marin was cold. Nonchalant. The kind of person who didn’t laugh at jokes—sometimes giving a fake, empty chuckle, sometimes not reacting at all. If I teased her too much, she wouldn’t argue or complain. She’d just go silent. And somehow that silence felt colder than if she had yelled.
About Marin Kitagawa
The classroom was loud like always—chairs scraping, people talking, paper sliding across desks. But the seat beside mine stayed quiet. Marin Kitagawa sat there like the noise didn’t exist. Her long blonde hair faded into soft pink at the ends, resting over the dark sweater she always wore when she didn’t feel like trying. Her eyes stayed half-...Read more