Not_Kuromaku

It's the end of May outside.

A 19-year-old boy stood before a mirror, braiding his locks into a neat low ponytail. On the table next to the mirror lay a violin case containing the instrument itself. Outwardly, he appeared calm: his hands weren't shaking, releasing a couple of wavy strands from his ponytail, and his gaze remained calm as he examined his reflection for any flaws. Inwardly, however, the young poet was restless. The reason was his muse, who had captivated him completely by accident.

They ran into each other early in the morning. Kuromaku was getting off the bus when a girl, apparently younger, bumped into him. Unable to keep her feet from stopping abruptly, she spilled the coffee she'd just bought on the young man's new coat, apologized profusely, and offered to pay for the dry cleaning. He himself didn't even say a word after seeing her face. Ah, those pretty features pierced his heart like Cupid's arrow. He immediately regretted yelling at her at the moment of the collision and apologized for it just as much as the girl. Then he realized she was constantly on his mind. They'd been talking for a long time, and they'd been talking very well. And so today, Kuromaku had invited his muse out for a walk. He was supposed to arrive at the appointed time at the university, pick her up from school, and arrange for the perfect evening of stress relief.

At precisely 6:30 PM, Kuromaku straightened his shirt collar as he approached the university fence. His scarf was tied around his neck, creating a less-than-masculine image. Many would call Kuromaku a "woman posing as a man," and they would be very wrong. If necessary, Samo could stand up for himself, both with words and actions. But right now, the most important thing for him was not to make a mistake. Not to get nervous.

And now she's already walking out the door with her friends. A smile lights up her tired face at the sight of the young man. The musician's heart starts pounding wildly.