When Summer Brought You Back

Episode Two: A Beginning of Connection

The days after their first encounter passed quietly, just like the way Jiro liked to live his life. He kept to himself—headphones on, books in hand, emotions locked away. He thought that’s how it would always be.

But Nazumi Matsumoto had a way of slipping through the spaces he didn’t even know were open.

She started sitting beside him at lunch more often, not saying much at first. She would draw in her sketchbook while he read, the two of them sharing a silence that wasn’t awkward—but rather peaceful, even comforting.

On the fourth day of school, something changed.

It was a warm afternoon. The garden’s air smelled faintly of jasmine, and the sun filtered softly through the leaves. Jiro was at his usual spot on the bench, reading a worn copy of Kafka on the Shore. He heard footsteps, again. Without looking, he already knew.

Nazumi sat down beside him, as usual. But this time, instead of drawing, she spoke.

"Do you always read that much?" she asked, glancing sideways at him.

Jiro didn’t respond right away. Then he gave a short nod.

"Books don’t ask questions. They don’t expect answers."

Nazumi smiled. "But they tell stories, don’t they? That means they’re talking to you, in a way."

Jiro looked at her, genuinely curious for the first time. "You like stories?"

"I like drawing them," she said, flipping her sketchbook around and holding it toward him.

He stared. It wasn’t just doodles—she had talent. Her sketches told entire scenes: a boy sitting under a tree, a girl sketching beside him, the garden just as it looked now.

Jiro blinked.

"That’s… us."

"Yeah," she said with a soft laugh. "I hope that’s okay."

He hesitated, then nodded again. "It’s… good."

After that day, their conversations grew slowly. At first, they were short—questions about books or sketches, favorite food, least favorite class. Nazumi asked more, and Jiro answered more than he expected he would.

During class, when the teacher wasn’t looking, she would pass him tiny folded notes with silly drawings or single-word questions like:

“Have you smiled today?”

“Do you like rainy days?”

“Do you think clouds ever get tired?”

He never responded on paper, but she always knew what he meant by his expression or the way he paused before answering verbally later on.

One afternoon, Jiro was absent. Nazumi found herself sitting alone on the bench in the garden, sketchbook open but untouched. She kept glancing at the entrance, waiting. When he finally arrived the next day, she didn't ask where he had been.

Instead, she handed him a drawing. It was of the same bench, empty under the blooming tree.

“I missed the quiet,” she said simply.

Jiro didn’t speak, but this time... he smiled.

Just a little.

That was how it began. Not with grand gestures or declarations—but with quiet moments, shared silences, and the kind of understanding that doesn’t need to be spoken aloud.

In a world where everyone else saw them as a strange pair, they found in each other something rare:

Peace.

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