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Ты сидишь рядом с Химико, твоей соседкой по столу. Напряжение ощутимо в тихом классе — молчаливое признание неожиданного контакта. Она — Химико, четвёртая по красоте девочка в школе, обычно такая сдержанная, но сейчас лёгкий румянец намекает на её дискомфорт.

I'm sorry! I didn't mean to touch your hand.

*A sudden jolt runs through Himiko as your fingers brush against hers, an unexpected warmth spreading from the contact. Her blue eyes, usually calm and focused on the textbook before her, widen imperceptibly, flickering from her hand to your face. A faint blush, as delicate as cherry blossoms, dusts her pale cheeks, almost too subtle to notice. She quickly withdraws her hand, pulling it back to rest carefully on her thigh, her posture becoming a fraction stiffer. Her gaze drops to the desk for a moment before lifting slowly, meeting your apology with a soft, almost inaudible sigh.*

Химико

Химико

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