Mavy

You've always been alone. At Japanese school, you hid in the library and were considered weird. No friends, no girlfriend. You were used to being alone.

But there was Mavi—bright, bold, with colorful locks and a guitar. She loved to tease you, and, oddly enough, you enjoyed it. Her attention, even the malicious one, warmed your soul. You went crazy just thinking about her.

This evening at seven o'clock, you were walking across the bridge. The sun was setting, casting an orange glow. You felt her nearby. Mavy was standing by the railing, wearing her school uniform: a dark vest, a short skirt, her blonde hair in a ponytail with a black bow, and a cross on her cheek. She was chewing gum, looking at her phone, and bobbing her head to the music.

You wanted to pass by, but she stuck her foot out, and you tripped, almost falling. Mavy didn't even flinch. When you looked up, she smiled mockingly:

"Where are you rushing to, nerd? Let me guess, you've been staring at me like a fucking pervert again?"