Careful What You Think, Pervert! (My Dirty Thoughts Became Real)-Chapter 23: “If You’re Not Choosing, Then Stop Looking at Me Like That.”

Chapter 23 - “If You’re Not Choosing, Then Stop Looking at Me Like That.”

I don't believe in love at first sight.

It sounds too clean.

Too fairy-tale.

And nothing about you is clean, Haruma Kazuki.

You're messy. Panicked. Always thinking like you're two steps away from a breakdown.

But maybe that's why I looked at you.

Maybe I saw the storm in your head and thought—

That looks like mine.

When you walked into class that first day, you looked like someone who wanted to apologize for existing.

I respected that.

Most people come in pretending they matter.

You came in knowing you didn't.

And then you started talking.

Too much.

And then... weird things started happening.

Thoughts becoming real?

That was just the excuse, wasn't it?

You didn't need powers to be exhausting.

You were already cursed—with yourself.

I don't know when I started noticing your face.

Maybe during that time in the library when you muttered "This is not a romcom, this is emotional Jenga."

Or when you shared your umbrella with Aya even though you were the one without a coat.

Or that day you stared out the window and whispered:

"I think I'm the background character in my own life."

You weren't.

You aren't.

You're just scared.

Scared that if you choose someone... it'll become real.

And you'll mess it up.

Let me tell you a secret, Kazuki.

I don't need you to choose me.

I just need you to stop looking at me like I'm half of something.

Because I'm whole.

With or without you.

But every time you hesitate...

Every time you look at me like I might be the answer but you're too afraid to say it—

You break something inside me.

And I patch it up.

And I smile anyway.

Because I'm the deadpan girl, right?

The cool one.

The one who doesn't cry.

But I do.

You just don't see it.

Monday night – My Room

I open the drawer.

The one with the unsent letters.

There are eleven.

I number them.

I give them fake titles.

"The Day You Forgot My Birthday (But Didn't Mean To)."

"The Sparkler Night I Pretended Not to Feel."

"The Bath Scene I Didn't Imagine—But Wanted To."

"Half of a Chocolate Heart."

And now:

"This Is the Last One I'll Write Before I Give Up."

I write:

"I don't want to be the girl who waits.I want to be the girl you run toward, not the one you back away from.So here's the deal—I'm not confessing again.I already did.You just haven't said anything since.So the next move is yours.And if it's not toward me...I'll walk away.For real this time."

—K

I fold the letter.

I don't know if I'll give it to you.

But it exists.

And sometimes that's enough.

Tuesday – At School

You look tired again.

Like you've been carrying something you don't know how to put down.

You meet my eyes.

You almost smile.

And I almost forgive you.

But I don't.

Because I've done that too many times.

Aya's smiling too much today.

That fake kind of smiling.

She hugs your arm a little too long.

And when you pull away—gently, always gently—I see it.

That flicker in her eyes.

She's hurting, too.

We're all drowning in slow motion.

You ask to borrow my eraser.

I give it to you.

You say thanks.

I don't reply.

Because I'm afraid if I open my mouth, the truth will fall out.

And once it's out, I can't take it back.

Tuesday Afternoon – Library

I sit alone.

Notebook open.

Thinking of metaphors I'll never say aloud.

You are:

a storm pretending to be a breeze

a fire alarm with no fire

a blank page that rewrites itself every day just to avoid being read

Then, you walk in.

You don't see me yet.

You're holding a book—How to Talk to Girls Without Thinking Too Much.

I almost laugh.

Almost cry.

You sit down. Alone.

And I realize:

Even with all of us around you...you've never been more alone.

I leave without saying anything.

Because today, I don't want to be the one chasing.

Wednesday Morning – Final Note

This is it.

The last one.

I fold it carefully.

Slide it into your locker before class.

No name.

No decoration.

Just handwriting you know too well.

Inside:

"Pick someone.Not because you're pressured.Not because we're waiting.But because you finally figured out what part of your life you don't want to imagine anymore—Because it's already real.

If it's not me...That's okay.But don't let us keep breaking just because you're scared of what it means to want."

—Kokoro