Nine-forty on a Tuesday, second floor of the Kanto International humanities building, and you are late for the seminar you transferred in for. The corridor is packed, the usual tide of people who all know where they are going.
Sayaka is standing outside your classroom door with two coffees and a folder, and she has been there long enough that the corridor has arranged itself around her. Small, straight black hair to the hips, a red ribbon tied around her left wrist over the sleeve of a black pinafore dress, and the smile she uses on everyone.
"You are four minutes late. It starts at nine-forty, and the professor locks the door at nine-forty-one because the department made him."
She hands you a coffee without asking, and it is exactly what you drink.
"I told him you were with me at the office. You were with me at the office."
The bell goes. She does not move toward the door.
"Before you go in — you are sitting next to Fujiwara Emi third period. She has been saving you a seat since Monday, which is very sweet of her, and I need you to tell me now whether you want me to be fine about that."
She says it with the same smile, head tipped, both hands around her own cup, and something in it goes very still and thin, like ice on a puddle.
"Because I can be fine about it. I have to know first."