The neon lights of Shibuya pulsed with a frenetic energy, a kaleidoscope of colors reflecting off the rain-slicked streets. I stood outside a nondescript building, the muffled sounds of music and laughter spilling out from within, my stomach churning with a familiar cocktail of anticipation and dread.
Suzume had invited me to a karaoke night with her friends, a prospect that filled me with equal parts excitement and terror. While the prospect of spending an evening with her sent my heart soaring, the thought of navigating the social complexities of a group outing, especially in a language I was still struggling to master, filled me with a sense of impending doom.
As if sensing my hesitation, Suzume, who stood beside me, her hand resting lightly on my arm, offered a reassuring smile.
"Don't worry, they're a great bunch," she said, her voice laced with understanding. "Besides, they're all dying to meet the mysterious coding genius who's stolen my attention in Professor Tanaka's class."
I blushed at her words, both flattered and mortified by her description.
"I'm hardly a genius," I mumbled, wishing I could disappear into the anonymity of the bustling crowd.
She laughed, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "Don't be so modest," she chided gently. "You're brilliant, Aditya. And besides," she added, her voice softening, "they already like you. They think you're...cute."
Her words, spoken with such casual affection, sent a jolt of something warm and unfamiliar coursing through me. Cute. Me? The word seemed so at odds with the awkward, self-conscious persona I usually projected.
Gathering my courage, I followed Suzume into the karaoke bar, the sounds of laughter and off-key singing washing over me like a tidal wave.
The room was a riot of color and sound, a dizzying mix of flashing lights, plush velvet booths, and the unmistakable energy of a Friday night in Tokyo. Suzume led me towards a table tucked away in a corner, where a group of six people sat huddled around a microphone, their faces illuminated by the flickering light of the karaoke screen.
"Everyone, this is Aditya," Suzume announced, her hand resting lightly on my back, a gesture that sent a shiver down my spine. "Aditya, this is everyone."
Introductions were made in a flurry of names and greetings, my limited Japanese struggling to keep up with the rapid-fire conversation. Suzume's friends, a mix of computer science students and art majors, were a far cry from the intimidating crowd I'd imagined.
There was Kenji, a lanky young man with a mop of unruly hair and a quick wit, who regaled us with hilarious anecdotes about their shared classes. There was Hana, a petite girl with a mischievous glint in her eye and a talent for belting out J-Pop anthems with surprising power. And then there was Akira, a quiet, contemplative art student, who surprised me by quoting lines from my favorite Murakami novel.
As the night wore on, fueled by sake and shared plates of greasy snacks, the karaoke machine became a conduit for laughter, shared stories, and surprisingly heartfelt renditions of both classic J-Pop hits and the occasional Western pop song.
I found myself relaxing into the rhythm of the evening, my initial anxieties replaced by a warm sense of camaraderie. Suzume, a natural in the spotlight, effortlessly navigated the group dynamics, drawing me out of my shell with gentle nudges and encouraging smiles.
At one point, during a particularly enthusiastic rendition of "Bohemian Rhapsody," our hands brushed as we both reached for a plate of edamame. The contact, brief and electric, sent a jolt through me, a spark igniting a wildfire in my chest.
Later that night, as Suzume and I walked side-by-side through the quiet streets, our shoulders brushing with each step, a comfortable silence settling between us, I felt a sense of contentment I hadn't realized I was capable of feeling.
"Your friends are amazing," I said, my voice barely above a whisper, afraid to break the spell of the moment.
"They are, aren't they?" she replied, her eyes sparkling in the dim light of the streetlamps. "I told you you'd like them."
"You were right," I admitted, a small smile tugging at the corners of my lips. "As always."
We reached the train station, the platform nearly deserted at this late hour. As we waited for the train, our shoulders brushing, my gaze lingered on Suzume's profile - the way her hair framed her face, the delicate curve of her neck, the way her eyes seemed to hold the faintest glimmer of the city lights.
And in that moment, as the train rattled towards us, a thought, as terrifying as it was exhilarating, took root in my mind: I was falling for her. And I was falling hard.
November 1st
Music, they say, is a universal language. Tonight, amidst the off-key singing and shared laughter, I think I finally understood what they meant. But there's a melody playing in my heart that I don't know how to share, a melody that only seems to grow louder when Suzume is near.
YOU ARE READING
The Secrete I've Held for 1 and a Half Year Part-1
RomanceAbout a Introvered Computer Science Geek boy who has axienty, and scared of speaking to women, who went to japan for his studies and developed fellings for a girl and how it took turns.
