A young woman in her early twenties stood in the dim light of the attic. A dusty ray of sunlight filtered through the small window, casting a glow on the boxes that were piled up all around her.
She carefully lifted the lid of the first box. Inside, she found old photographs from her childhood. She picked up the photograph; it showed her as a young girl, smiling shyly at the camera.
She sifted through the box when she came across a delicate music box. The paint on the surface was beginning to chip, but even so, it was still beautiful.
She picked it up, turning it over in her hands. She wondered how long it had been since it had been played.
She twisted the small key on the back of the music box, winding it up carefully. As she did, she heard a click, and then the faint notes of music began to play. The melody was sweet and haunting, and it filled the cramped space of the attic with a sense of nostalgia.
Her attention shifted when she noticed an old journal in the corner of the box. The leather cover was worn and cracked, and the pages were yellowed with age. She reached for it, carefully picking it up and reverently opening it.
She saw that her own handwriting was filling the pages. She recognised the script and the words, and it was her own diary from many years ago.
The woman's eyes skipped over to the title page of the journal, and her heart skipped a beat. Written there in her younger self's handwriting was a title: "The Enigmatic Boy." She knew immediately what it was referring to.
Her mind rewound back to her first day at school, the memories rushing back vividly. She remembered how she had been full of excitement, looking forward to making new friends and starting a new life in a new environment for three years.
She entered the classroom; her eyes had been immediately drawn to a boy sitting by the window, his gaze fixated on the outside, and he seemed more interested in the birds outside the window than in her or any of the other students.
His name was Kiyotaka Ayanokoji.
She vividly recalls that day as she turns the pages of the diary. She remembered every moment-the introductions, the conversations, and most of all, the odd glances she had cast at the boy in the back, who seemed so uninterested in his surroundings.
She had felt a sense of curiosity and disappointment all at once, wondering why he didn't seem to notice her at all.
Then he looked at her. Just a brief, but in that moment, she had felt her heart skip a beat.
She had tried to capture it in words by writing it down, so she could hold onto that feeling of being noticed by him, even if only for a moment.
She flipped through the pages of the diary and came upon a paragraph that caught her attention.
It read: "I was standing by my locker, fumbling with the combination lock, when I noticed him. He was leaning against the wall; his eyes were distant and unreadable. There was something about him, unlike the other boys, who were loud and boisterous. Ayanokoji seemed to exist in a world of his own."
Her mind flicked back to those early days, when she had found herself stealing curious glances at him during classes and in the dining hall.
Every time their eyes met, her heart would melt, only to be disappointed as he would look away, his expression unreadable. He was always so reserved, never raising his voice and speaking only when necessary.
It was intriguing to see how a boy so young could seem so mature despite his aloofness; there was something about him that attracted her in a way she couldn't explain.
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Classroom of the elite short Stories
أدب الهواةClassroom of the elite short story and one shorts.