A Pretty Girl Has Her First Kiss Stolen By an Equally Handsome Classmate - Episode 1.3

November 26 (Friday)

“Thanks for coming all this way.”

With a slight bow, Shizuku Mizuhara took the printouts and immediately made a move to leave. Whenever I rang her intercom, she always answered right away, and by the time I took the documents out of my bag, she was already at the entrance.

“Hey, Wakamatsu, is your club okay?”

“Yeah, it’s totally fine.”

I was part of the student council executive committee, which mainly handled school events. The only really busy times were the weeks leading up to event days. The sports festival in September and the cultural festival in November were the two biggest events at our school, but those weren’t our responsibility. That meant we wouldn’t get busy again until the farewell party in late December.

“I see.”

“Oh, but we’re still doing paper recycling every Thursday—”
“See you next week.”

Just as I was about to talk about our other activities, Mizuhara quickly walked away.

“See you next week,” I called after her. She turned around briefly and gave a small nod before leaving.

December 3 (Friday)

That day, I took an earlier train than usual and stopped by the drugstore.

I picked up some eye drops and hand cream, then remembered I was running out of shampoo. As I moved to the shampoo aisle, I spotted Shizuku Mizuhara standing there.

I was surprised, but since her house was within walking distance, it wasn’t strange for her to be here.

“Hey, how’ve you been?”

I casually stepped beside her and greeted her.

Mizuhara looked startled for a moment, but as soon as she recognized me, disappointment flickered in her eyes. She quickly masked it with a neutral expression and gave me a small nod.

I had to hold back the urge to say, You’re not even trying to hide your disappointment.

“Your hair is always so smooth, Mizuhara. Got any hair care recommendations?”

“I think your hair is fine the way it is.”

“Come on, look—see? I actually have pretty wavy hair.”

I ran my fingers through my hair to show her.

Then, Mizuhara’s hand gently touched mine.

“Huh?”

With her fingers still resting on my hand, she lightly combed through my hair.

Her fingers moved so close to my cheek that I felt my face heat up.

“You’re cute as you are, so there’s no need to change anything.”

Mizuhara pulled her hand away and turned back to the shelf.

Meanwhile, I was completely flustered, but she acted as if nothing had happened.

Since we never really hung out at school, having her close like this caught me off guard.

“O-oh… my hairstyle, right?”

“Yeah, your bob looks nice too. But I was talking about your face—it’s cute.”

My face burned even more.

No one had ever called me “cute” before.

Mizuhara had said it so casually while sniffing the scent of a tester bottle, but it had completely flustered me.

“W-well, you’re really pretty too, Mizuhara…”

“No need for flattery.”

“I’m not flattering you!”

I’d never been the type to compliment my friends’ looks. In fact, I never even thought about it. Saying something like “you’re pretty” felt so unfamiliar that Mizuhara probably assumed I was just being polite.

“Wait, did you just call me ‘Mizuhara’ without honorifics?”

“Oh! Uh… was that bad?”

Unless someone shared the same last name, I usually called friends by their surname without honorifics. I must’ve done it unconsciously.

I quickly apologized, worried I had offended her.

“It’s not bad. I just thought, ‘Oh, so that’s how it is.’”

“Huh? What do you mean?”

“I mean, this must be how the ‘popular’ crowd gets close to people.”

I frowned at the unfamiliar phrase.

“The what?”

“The popular kids in class. People like you, Wakamatsu—the ones who get along with everyone.”

“I never really thought about that before…”

Mizuhara casually tossed a refill pack of shampoo into her basket.

“Yeah, that figures,” she muttered.

Her tone was blunt, like she had just dismissed the conversation entirely.

I hesitated for a moment, then grabbed my own shampoo and followed her to the checkout.

“Wait up, Mizuhara!”

“You don’t have to run.”

“Why not? Let’s go together.”

By the time we reached the register, a line had formed.

While waiting, I tried to make conversation.

“Hey, want to go somewhere after this?”

“Where?”

“Did you try the new Starbucks drink yet? Want to go?”

“Nope.”

She rejected the offer without hesitation.

A young cashier with a trainee badge opened a new register and called Mizuhara over. As I watched her move to the counter, another cashier called for me.

I hadn’t realized it was already my turn.

After paying, I caught up with Mizuhara. She held out her hand, waiting for the printouts.

I quietly handed them over.

“See you,” she said before quickly walking away.