Hiroto stared at the letter for a moment longer, the faint heat in his cheeks only growing. His phone, which had become his lifeline for anything from entertainment to vague social interactions, sat silently on the desk. The idea of actually handwriting a response felt… foreign. Almost archaic. He hadn't written anything longer than a grocery list in years.
He tapped his fingers against the edge of his desk, the sound oddly loud in the otherwise quiet room. What was he supposed to say? Was it supposed to be formal? Casual? Should he pretend like the whole "not meant for him" thing never happened, or was that too weird? And how exactly did one casually bring up a letter that wasn't meant for him?
He imagined her on the other end, a 3D girl—someone who probably spent her afternoons reading books or doing something productive. Meanwhile, he was over here, overthinking a simple letter.
His thumb hovered over his phone's screen. He opened his group chat again. It wasn't much help.
[Introverts Assemble]
Hiroto: So, uh, I've been thinking about writing back, but is it weird? She kind of apologized for the mix-up, but I'm also feeling kinda… awkward about it.
Chindori: She apologized? She's probably worried you think she's a weirdo now. Just write back like a normal person. It's not that deep.
KawaSimp99: Bro, you're making this sound like a marriage proposal. It's just a letter.
Gojo55: If she apologized, it's a sign she wants to keep the convo going. Maybe try asking her what she's up to? Something chill.
Hiroto: Yeah, but… what if she's regretting sending it at all? I mean, she literally said "don't mind me, I guess."
MidoriDrawz: Sounds like she's unsure, dude. If she was regretting it, she wouldn't have written at all.
Sungjinwoo:l: Exactly. People only send letters when they care. So just reply.
Tamahawk: Write back, but don't overthink it. Something casual. Like "hey, no worries about the mix-up." You'll figure it out from there.
Hiroto leaned back in his chair, letting the group's suggestions swirl around in his mind. They were right, sort of. She had written back. That meant something, right? And yet, the thought of replying—especially in handwriting—was still daunting.
He glanced at his desk, eyes landing on the stack of notebooks and pens he'd bought at the beginning of the semester, mostly unused. Writing a letter felt oddly… intimate. Not in a romantic way, but in a "this is a physical, tangible thing" kind of way.
With a deep breath, he grabbed one of the pens and opened a fresh notebook. The ink felt heavier than he remembered. He began to write, hesitating after each line.
"Dear Yumi, I guess…"
He paused. No, that didn't feel right. Maybe he should try again.
...
..
.
Yumi was lying in her futon, the cool evening air drifting in through the open window. The room was quiet, save for the occasional rustle of the curtains as the wind teased them gently. Outside, the world was alive with the distant hum of cicadas, the unmistakable soundtrack of summer in Japan. Yet, inside her room, everything felt still—almost too still.
She stared up at the ceiling, her mind restless, despite the calmness around her. The thought of Hiroto swirled in her head like a forgotten tune, repeating over and over. It wasn't like she had expected the first night of summer break to be anything special. Summer was always the same—a time for freedom, long days, and the promise of no schoolwork hanging over her. But tonight felt different.
The day had been ordinary enough. She'd packed away her schoolbag, spent some time walking around the neighborhood, and then retreated to her room, just like any other summer break. But then she found herself staring at the letter from Hiroto. That one little slip of fate that had somehow led to this mess of overthinking and uncertainty. A letter. A simple, accidental exchange. And yet here she was, on the first night of summer, obsessing over whether he would respond or not.
'Should I have written back at all?' Yumi thought, her fingers playing absently with the corner of her blanket. 'What if he thinks I'm weird for replying? What if he won't even bother replying at all?'
She rolled onto her side, pulling the covers tighter around her as if they could shield her from her thoughts. She wasn't used to this kind of uncertainty. Usually, she kept to herself, her interactions limited to the safe, predictable routines of school and home. But now, with Hiroto's unexpected letter sitting on her mind, she felt... exposed. 'This is so weird,' she thought, squeezing her eyes shut. 'I can't believe I'm still thinking about this.'
It was the first night of summer, and she was supposed to be free from the usual worries. But instead, she found herself tangled in the odd feeling of wanting to keep this strange conversation alive, even though she didn't really know where it was going. Was she just overthinking things? Probably. It wasn't like Hiroto had even responded to her second letter yet. She had no idea when—if at all—he would reply. The whole situation felt like it was suspended in time, like the long stretch of summer days ahead of her.
'What if he doesn't reply at all?' That nagging question circled in her mind, making her stomach twist. There was no guarantee that Hiroto would write back. He might have read her second letter, shrugged it off, and moved on with his summer. Or, worse, he might have read it and thought she was too strange for him to bother with. After all, what was the point of replying to a letter from a random person who had messed up the address in the first place?
Her room was so quiet now, the sound of the cicadas fading into the background as her thoughts took over. She could almost hear the minutes passing, ticking away in the stillness of the night. "I guess I'll just have to wait," she told herself, pulling the blanket over her head and burying her face in the pillow. "It's not like I can do anything about it now."
The first night of summer was always a little magical, a feeling of endless possibility stretching out before you. And yet, here Yumi was, wrapped in blankets and lost in her head.
Maybe it was the summer air making her feel more introspective than usual, but as she lay there, she couldn't shake the thought that something had shifted. She wasn't sure what it was, but it was there.