Hey, Daydreamer! | Hanma Shuuji

Hey, Daydreamer!

The classroom buzzed with the usual energy of a Monday morning. The sun filtered in through the large windows, casting slants of light across the desks and the half-full room. Hanma Shuji sat in his usual spot at the back, slouched in his chair, his long legs stretched out under the desk. His eyes, though half-lidded and lazy, scanned the room with a detached sort of awareness. People thought Hanma didn't care about much, and for the most part, they were right. But what no one knew—what he had taken great pains to hide—was that he could hear their thoughts.

It wasn't something he asked for. In fact, there were days when Hanma cursed his mind-reading ability more than he appreciated it. It had started when he was younger, just a whisper in the back of his head, someone else's voice mixing with his own. At first, he thought he was losing his mind, but as the whispers became clearer, more distinct, he realized what was happening. And the worst part? He had no control over it. Whenever someone was near, their thoughts flowed into his mind, unfiltered, unbidden.

That's why Hanma kept to himself. He found it easier that way—less noise, less distraction. Most people's thoughts were painfully dull, revolving around schoolwork, social drama, or the latest gossip. There was nothing in their heads that Hanma found remotely interesting. So, he had grown used to tuning it all out, letting their voices drift in and out of his mind without really listening.

But then there was her.

Sitting two rows ahead of him, always with her head slightly tilted as if listening to a world only she could hear, was the girl who fascinated him more than anyone else. She wasn't the most popular girl in class—far from it, actually. But she was the one who had managed to catch Hanma's attention in a way no one else had. The strange thing was, he couldn't hear her thoughts.

At first, he thought it was a fluke. Maybe he was too far away, or maybe she wasn't thinking about anything interesting enough to register. But no, even when she was close, even when he focused on her, there was nothing. Just silence.

It drove him crazy.

He had never experienced anything like it before. Everyone's mind was an open book to him, their thoughts pouring out without permission. But she... she was different. And the more he watched her, the more he realized that she wasn't just quiet on the outside—her whole presence seemed to exist in a different realm. She daydreamed a lot, her eyes distant and unfocused during class. While others frantically scribbled notes, she would stare out the window, a small, almost imperceptible smile playing on her lips.

Today was no different. Hanma watched as she sat at her desk, her chin resting in her hand, her eyes fixed on the window beside her. The teacher droned on about something—Hanma wasn't paying attention—but she didn't seem to be listening either. Her mind was somewhere else, far from this classroom.

What is she thinking about?

He didn't know why it bothered him so much. Maybe it was because her silence was like a challenge, a puzzle he couldn't solve. He wasn't used to being shut out, and she was the first person who had ever managed to keep him at arm's length without even knowing it.

"Shuji, are you paying attention?"

The teacher's voice cut through his thoughts, and Hanma blinked, turning his head slowly toward the front of the room. He hadn't realized the teacher was speaking directly to him.

"Yeah," he muttered, leaning back in his chair. "I'm listening."

The teacher gave him a skeptical look but moved on, continuing the lesson. Hanma returned his gaze to the girl, whose name he had learned through sheer observation: Aya. It suited her, he thought. Soft, unassuming, and a little mysterious.