Our Symphonies | satosere

23 ;

「 twenty-three 」

"Have a nice drink!"

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I rushed through the streets of Naha in order to reach the so-assigned bubble tea shop.

The place was no more than twelve blocks away from where I lived, but provided how unpunctual I can get when it comes to deadlines, bolting was left as the only alternative. I was fifteen damn minutes late.

It was already Friday before I knew, aka the third last day of our Golden Week holidays. I swear I had been planning to be more productive and study for my midterm exams, but the day before yesterday I had just returned from Yabuchi, and yesterday I had gone for a merry (still a time waste) outing with Dawn Berlitz, like I had her promised the other day.

Apparently her hometown's Kyoto, but she's been living in Okinawa ever since her mom had a transfer. We did a little catch-up with burgers and smoothies; and although I knew roundabout nothing about that blue birdie, she spilled all the school gossips to me as though we've been friends forever.

She overshares, which I could never. Because for that I need to learn how to share first.

The pastel canvas bag dangled from my left shoulder: a few textbooks, one binder, and my stationary-stacked pouch hitting my butt with every step I took.

I made it across the zebra crossing once the light turned blue, (it works that way here in Japan), and sighed upon arriving at the other side. Bubbleology was written in white minimalist letters over the all-black signboard, in both Japanese and English, and I pushed the transparent door to enter the air-conditioned paradise.

It smelled like an incarnation of mint leaves, milk, and intoxicating honey. The shop wasn't running that busy. More than half of the daylight-washed tables were vacant, there were Bohemian girls tapping away on their cellphones and talkative moms with their kids on prams, all indulged in some or the other gossips—and it wasn't too long until I found my classmate.

She waved at me from the farthest corner of the shop, on a window seat, and I returned it with a close-lipped grin of my own.

The soles of my denim sneakers squeaked against the marble floor as I jogged over to the mangentanette (I don't care if it's a word or not). "Hi, Koharu!"

"Heya," She smiled back, looking exceptionally pretty with her hair down. They were way curlier than I had always estimated, and her bronze cheeks and raspberry tinted lips made me blush slightly. Goddamn, am I really straight? "I'm glad you could make it, Serena! How've you been?"

"No biggie, and I've been great." I pulled myself another spare chair, sitting across her after placing my bag on the floor. "You look stunning without a braid, you know." I complimented while whipping out my mathematics textbook.

I sucked ridiculously at statistics, and couldn't do simple calculations to save my life. I don't wanna become an accountant, anyway. Fuck stats. And by the way, Koharu did look drop dead gorgeous, I wasn't just firing shotguns in the dark.

She coiled a glossy strand of her hair round the index finger, potentially embarrassed. "Thank so much. I was a little self-conscious of not tying them, but a change seems good sometimes."

"Sure does," I nodded, calming down from the gay panic minutes ago and rubbing both palms against my white jeans. "So, shall we order?"

"Actually, you were a little late. So I ended up ordering for the both of us," The sheepish smile on her face made her look five years younger. "You okay with the Matcha flavour?"