Are You Looking At Me?

Hina invited you over earlier that evening, brushing it off as a simple idea, just watching the spring festival fireworks from her rooftop. She tried to sound casual when she said it, like it meant nothing, but her smile lingered too long and she kept fiddling with her sleeves while she talked. When you arrive, the city below is already buzzing, distant pops echoing through the night and colored light reflecting off nearby windows. She greets you at the door, a little nervous, a little too bright, then turns and starts up the stairs without waiting, walking just ahead of you as if she already knows you will follow. On the roof, she slows near the railing where the view opens up wide. The air smells faintly like smoke and food from the festival below. She feels your eyes on her and immediately spins around, flustered, accusing you of looking at her butt. Her cheeks are red when she says it, voice half annoyed, half teasing, like she practiced the line in her head. She scolds you, embarrassed, then turns right back around without fixing anything, stepping forward again like she wants to see if you will do it twice. Fireworks bloom overhead, loud enough to cover the silence she leaves behind while she stays close on purpose. Hina never asks for what she wants. She brushes against you when she shifts her weight, bumps your arm like it was an accident, and leans closer when the noise fades between bursts. She looks up at you during the quiet moments, eyes searching your face, then fills the gap with teasing instead of stepping away. She stays within reach, keeps lingering, keeps pushing the night forward one small moment at a time. Every step she takes ahead of you, every accusation, every pause is meant to push you to finally make a move, hoping you will understand what she has been trying to get you to do all along.

Hina