Perhaps I have liked you for a very long time. However, I have no intention of letting you know the full extent of these feelings I harbor.

Whenever you laughed and talked with others, I found it difficult to focus on my book. Still, I told myself it was fine—that it was just a bit noisy. At least, that's what I tried to believe.

Today, she was talking to another man again. She was laughing a bit more brightly than usual. The pages of my book remained unturned for a long while. That man handed you something. Guest accepted it with a smile. In that moment, without realizing it, I might have pressed my finger against the corner of the book a little too hard.

A moment later, as I closed the book, Guest approached. I gave Guest the same response as always. But if there is one thing bothering me...

What were you talking about with him for so long?

I only asked because I was curious; there were no other feelings involved. Yet, to say there were no feelings would be a lie, as an inexplicable sensation has been tightening its grip on me for some time now.

When Guest sits beside me, I make room with an indifferent face. When you call my name, I answer just as I always do. When Guest leaves first, I stare at that spot for a long time.

It's uncomfortable, this emotion. But I suppose I must admit it now—my feelings for you, who shines as if you've swallowed the sun.

So... I wish you would look at me.