"E-Eh?! How do I even start this thing?! Is this the button?! No, wait—do I need to feed it coins first?!"

Mochizuki Haruka was frantically jabbing at the glowing buttons on the purikura photo booth like a panicked office lady trying to stop a fax machine from self-destructing.

"Relax, Mochizuki-san. I think you just... throw your money at it and hope for the best."

"I am throwing my money at it!" she wailed. "But it's yelling at me in robot-girl voice and I don't know what the heck I'm agreeing to!"

"Just pick any frame. It's not like we're submitting these to an art exhibit."

"W-We're running out of time, Ginjō-san! The countdown's gonna start!"

"It's fine. If you don't choose anything, it'll auto-pilot to the next stage anyway. The AI is smarter than both of us put together."

That wasn't really a joke, but she laughed nervously anyway. Poor girl looked like she was taking a college entrance exam.

Eventually, the machine blurted out in an overly cheerful voice, "Stage: Shooting begins! Get close and smile~!"

"G-Get close…?"

Haruka glanced at me like a startled rabbit, her porcelain cheeks already tinged pink. The booth voice wasn't helping:

"Try hugging! Put your faces together! Don't be shy~!"

The heck, this thing was more aggressive than half the dating sims I've played.

"W-Well… u-um… G-Ginjō-san…"

She hesitated, clutching the hem of her shirt with her trembling fingers like a heroine in some outdated shoujo manga.

C'mon. She did say she wanted to stop being passive, right?

"Oi, Mochizuki-san." I casually threw an arm around her shoulder. "Don't freeze up on me. Look at the camera, it's about to take the shot."

"E-Eh? W-Wait, y-you're holding me already?!"

Her voice cracked mid-protest, but she quickly raised her face toward the camera, cheeks glowing like they'd been microwaved. I could feel her body trembling against mine—not that I was unaffected.

She's soft. Way too soft. And warm. And small. And… Is this what it feels like to hug a freshly-laundered mochi?

I cursed myself internally for not wearing thicker clothes.

Click. Click.

The shutter snapped off a couple of shots while we were still in our awkward hug-pose

"Okay, now get even closer! Cheek to cheek, come onnn!"

Seriously, who programmed this damn booth? Some closet perv? Wait… probably a girl. Girls are way more dangerous when it comes to this stuff.

I leaned in as instructed, and she did the same. Our cheeks touched. Her skin was like chilled sakura petals on a spring breeze.

I could feel her shallow breathing.

Could she feel mine?

"Strike a pose, Mochizuki-san."

My voice came out way too low. I meant it to be encouraging, but... yeah, I probably sounded like I was seducing her.

"R-Roger!" she squeaked, throwing up a nervous peace sign like a guilty idol caught in the act.

Click. Click. Click.

It ended in a flash.

"…W-Was… that the right way to do it?" she asked faintly, still stunned.

"Yep. Pretty standard," I said, trying to suppress the very inappropriate thoughts trying to hijack my brain.

"Now we get to graffiti on them."

"G-Graffiti?! I—I don't know how to do that! G-Ginjō-san, please!"

"Relax. It's not rocket science. Just doodle something dumb. It's part of the charm."

Still flustered, Haruka fumbled with the stylus and scribbled something vaguely heart-shaped with our names beside it. Her handwriting looked like a kitten learning kanji.

In the end, the machine spat out our printed stickers with a mechanical whir. We grabbed scissors from the side table and cut them into halves.

She held her half like it was a winning lottery ticket.

"Ahhh~! This is amazing! It's really a photo booth! My very first purikura!"

She looked like a puppy discovering snow for the first time.

"Thank you, Ginjō-san. Thank you so much… for indulging my silly request."

She cradled the tiny photo sheet to her chest with both hands. Her expression was overflowing with joy—so much that I thought she might cry.

"I'll treasure this forever, I swear…"

"You're welcome," I said softly. "This is what a proper college date's all about, isn't it?"

She smiled. A genuine, dazzling smile. But at the same time, there was a faint glimmer of wetness in her eyes. She was trying to laugh... but it was like she was fighting to hold something back.

That feeling—bittersweet and delicate, like watching the last fireworks of summer.

She didn't want this to end.

And neither did I.

Then it happened.

She dropped the photo. A light breeze from the AC carried it toward the floor, but she didn't even notice.

Instead, she reached out.

Her small, trembling hand slipped into mine.

Warm, delicate fingers wrapped around my palm—like she was afraid I'd vanish if she didn't hold on tight enough.

"H-Hey…"

It was sudden.

And for a moment, I thought maybe I was imagining it. But no, her grip was real. Her hand was shaking.

She was shaking.

Haruka Mochizuki—the passive, quiet, polite girl who never joined any clubs, who never spoke out in class, who spent her college years drifting like a cloud—had reached out.

She made the move.

She was choosing to fight for something, even if it was just this fleeting moment between us.

Her head hung low. She didn't dare look up.

As if afraid that if she did, she'd see rejection in my eyes.

Her lips were trembling. Her breathing was uneven. Her face flushed all the way to her ears.

I could practically hear the thoughts crashing inside her head:

"Did I mess up?"

"Was I too forward?"

"Will he pull away?"

"Does he think I'm weird…?"

And yet… even with all that fear—

She held on.

Hard.

I could feel the pulse in her fingertips.

That trembling, fragile strength that said:

"Don't let go."

So I didn't. I laced my fingers through hers and gave her hand a gentle squeeze in return.

"…Let's go," I said, with the softest smile I could manage.

Her eyes widened.

And then—

"Un…"

She nodded with a look that was somehow even more radiant than the sun outside.

--

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