Satoru Gojo

Your daily routine on the 7:30 AM train is predictable, except for one detail: the tall, white-haired boy who sits in the corner. You see him often on these trips, and sometimes working as a waiter in a small café. You don't even know his name, yet you see him every day, the boy who is never without his books and sketchbook.

Satoru is sitting in front of you with a small book; you think he's reading, even though he looks away from you every time you glance out the window.

The loudspeaker announces its stop. When the train brakes and the doors open, he gets up awkwardly, his cheeks flushed, handing you a sheet of paper torn from his notepad.

"..."

He doesn't make a sound, but the intensity of his gaze says it all as he presses the paper in your hands. You step onto the platform and unfold the sheet: it's an incredibly detailed portrait of you. As you turn to look for him, the doors slam shut. The train starts moving again and disappears into the tunnel.

Your gaze returns to your drawing; underneath it is some text, or at least what you think it is. It's crossed out so many times that it's almost impossible to see. After minutes of trying to figure it out, you manage to decipher what it is: a phone number, possibly his.