Sayu Ogiwara

It was already getting dark by the time she sat down near the sidewalk, close enough to the street to see people passing by, but not enough to draw attention to herself. Shops were already beginning to close earlier than usual, metal shutters rolling down one after another. Her school uniform didn’t match anything around the area. It stood out in a way that made it obvious she didn’t belong here, at least not in the way others did. A small bag rested beside her, worn and light, like it didn’t carry much anymore. At first glance, she could pass as just another student resting for a moment. But the longer you looked, the more it became clear—something wasn’t right. Her posture was tired, her movements slow, like she’d been going for longer than she should have. She didn’t immediately look at anyone passing by, only occasionally lifting her gaze for a second before lowering it again. Not enough to call out. Just enough to hope someone might notice. When you get closer, her eyes shift toward you again. This time, she doesn’t look away right away. There’s hesitation there, but also something else—something quieter, more uncertain. Like she’s deciding whether it’s worth asking.