When I was a kid—just barely in my first year of elementary school—I'd taken notice of something odd.

Eyes were nothing like the countless textbooks and google images I'd seen. Instead, people's pupils were bright stars. When I looked into them, it was almost as if a person's very soul was laid out on a platter for me to read. Naturally, when you know exactly who people are, what they're thinking, and what their words mean, you can get along with them fairly easily since there isn't anything to be misinterpreted. As a kid that wanted to make friends, I quickly jumped to becoming a people pleaser. Not someone that got pushed around, but someone who seemed to get along with everyone. People saw someone who always knew exactly what to say, and how to act… and they adored that person.

***

"Well? What is it this time, Miyashita?" My counselor, Chusei Aoki, asked, his chin firmly planted in his palm as he stared uninterestedly at me. 

The counseling room was a place I had become familiar with. It wasn't anything remarkable and was rather small, but I'd grown especially fond of the green bean bag chair that sat unceremoniously in the corner of the room. It was missing just enough filling to let me sink into it the way I'd imagine laying in a pool full of pillows would feel like. The only light in the room was a tall, dim orange lamp that you'd see go for about 1000 yen at a flea market. The old ceiling light had burnt out long before I attended this school, and no one's bothered to change it. There were windows in the room, though they were practically useless since they only looked into the school. They were covered by posters filled with happy-go-lucky platitudes like, "Nobody's perfect," and "Everything will be okay." Their contribution to the privacy of the room was more appreciated than the messages themselves.

My counselor sat a few feet away from me at his desk, the white light of a monitor illuminating the left side of his face. "I really wish you'd just sit down in a chair." His hand moved to rub his temples as he let out a vexed sigh, "You're really hard to take seriously when you lay there like a corpse."

I sunk deeper into the bean bag. "Why haven't you gotten rid of it yet?"

"Because you'd complain about it."

"Hmm…" I stood up from the bean bag, putting a hand to my chin in a sort of thinking pose, "Do you have any dreams, counselor? Aspirations?"

"Of course I have dreams," he sighed again. "What kind of question is that?"

I found his choice of words interesting. Have, he said.

"I thought old people gave those up when they got… well… old?"

His left eye twitched.

"What, you think I'm an ambitionless middle-aged man?"

I paused. This is very obviously a trap, but like every sea-floor dwelling crab, I couldn't help but take a pinch at the bait.

"Yes."

His left eye twitched.

"I'll have you know that I'm 28 years old," he scoffed proudly, clearing his throat before continuing. "I'm your counselor, treat me with some respect."

"You're right. I should treat my elders with respect." I bowed. "Thank you for your words of wisdom, dear elder."

"What did you really come here for? I'm a busy person in case you weren't aware."

"You're right, I'm sorry for wasting what little time you have left."

His left eye twitched.

I paced around the room a couple times before taking a seat in an actual chair on the other side of his desk. "Could you give me some advice? What should I be doing with my life?"

"You serious?"

"Yep."

"You're going to hate what I have to say then," he picked up a pencil, and wrote something down. "I know you're not a big fan of nothing answers."

I didn't need to see into his soul to know what he had to say.

'No one knows what anyone should do with anyone's life.' 

That's what it really comes to, isn't it? I'm not really sure what to think of it, though I do find it a little annoying how no one seems to have an answer. If great philosophers like Nietzsche and Freud don't have one factual truth for what I should be doing with my life, how am I supposed to know? Maybe it's better I don't know. It could be a depressing truth after all.

"My answer is in this piece of paper," he offered a folded piece of lined paper ripped straight out of a pocket book. "Take it if you want to."

I focused my gaze on the poorly folded piece of paper pinched between his index and thumb. It seemed to stare back at me, curiosity burning in the back of my mind. My worst fear upon taking the piece of paper was the uncertainty of what was inside. What could it say? What would I think? How would I feel? In truth, what I was truly afraid of was that if I took this piece of paper, opened it, and was presented with nothing. If it said something like "Your life is what you make of it," I'm sure my stomach would go sour. 

"On second thought," I thought out loud, starting for the door, "I think I'll just live in ignorance."

My counselor groaned, crumpling the piece of paper in his hand and tossing it into the trash bin from across the room. "Miyashita."

I turned, frowning. "Yea?"

"Would it kill you to look me in the eye when you speak? You don't seem to be taking me seriously."

"Ah… well…" I itched the back of my neck, letting out a little bit of a nervous laugh. "What can I say? Despite your dwindling age, you've still got some blindingly bright vigor to you..."

At first, it was simple.

Look into someone's eyes, learn everything about them, see what they want to hear, and say it.

But as time went on, things got more complicated.

It started off subtly, but as I pried into more and more people's souls, I began to realize something.

Staring into people's eyes started to sting—like glaring directly into the sun. At some point the glow had grown too bright. I couldn't do it anymore.

***

There was nothing particularly unusual about my school. From a top down view, it looked a little bit like an "H" with two main height-wise matchbox buildings on either side of a smaller length-wise matchbox that connected the two. The left building ran along the main road, and was where all classes, A-1 to I-3, were. The right building was adjacent to the forest and our three athletic fields. All the sports and culture clubs took place in that building. The middle building housed the Plaza, a massive social hub where events like "Talk Show Tuesday'' and "Phrygian Friday*" were held. It offered a cafeteria service, though only the well off kids ate there. Most students seemed to flocked to either the left or middle building during lunch hours, leaving a large majority of the right building vacant.

My counselor's office was on the second floor of the left building, and I spent lunchtime in the art room, which was on the first floor of the right building. Though I didn't have to cross directly through the Plaza, the hallways connecting the buildings were always crowded. I enjoyed spending time alone at lunch, since the crowds of people were blinding. Thankfully, with all the buzz in the Plaza, as well as the eccentric, unconventional reputation of the art club students, other students generally steered clear.

***

Surviving a trek through the trenches that was Main Hallway A, I managed a sigh of relief as I arrived at the art room. I stared at the door for a while, steeling my heart for my next step.

One of the club members, Hiiragi Yuzuku, was no steps short of the word "prodigy." Or in this case, "savant." Early on in junior high, she'd won multiple awards for artistic excellence, and even had a few of her pieces displayed at art galas overseas. But despite her outwardly elegance, she had a short temper that matched her height, and was very protective of her WIPs to the point of setting up elaborate schemes. In the past, I'd stepped into the art room at the wrong time and had to spend the rest of the day in the infirmary washing flour out of my eyes.

I cautiously slid the door open, ready for any antics she could have prepared. Littered across the floor were sheets of white paper splattered with vibrant hues, whittled and worn brushes, and plastic covers to protect the floor. It was pretty normal to enter and expect to see what looked like a crime scene reenactment—though funny enough, the art club did it as a prompt earlier in the year—so at a glance, there was nothing out of the ordinary.

What was out of the ordinary, though, was an unfamiliar girl. She sat in an Aeron Miller chair (when did the art club get the budget for something like that?) with her head down on one of the sketching desks, the tender part of her arm cradling her cheek. The glow of the bright afternoon sun illuminated her like a spotlight, encapsulating a sense of serenity amidst the chaos. It was like watching a chameleon bathe in the solitary sunny spot on a cloudy beach.

No, that wasn't quite right. Maybe she was more like a cat?

"Mmmph…" She pulled her head away from the table, sweeping her long blonde hair behind her ear with a pale hand before turning to look at me. The corners of her mouth drew apart into a subtle smile, showcasing her gentle features. 

Her very image exuded perfection. It seemed almost… fictitious—like everything had fallen perfectly into place. The timing, the angle, the silence. This once in a lifetime scene was no doubt irreproducible. Though despite everything that had gone right, there was one thing that really stood out. Her gradient blue eyes. No matter how long I stared into them, I couldn't make out what was on her mind. They lacked the bright stars that burnt my eyes, leaving behind what looked to be completely and utterly normal pupils.

"A-ah..! I'm really sorry for falling asleep here!" She blinked her drowsiness away, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand. "It was just the only place I could find, haha…" she blinked again, muttering an aside to herself just loud enough to hear, "this chair is super comfortable though."

I was well acquainted with the art kids after a workshop I did—begrudgingly—with them over the summer, but I didn't notice this girl. She wasn't someone you would just miss, either. Maybe she's a new addition to the club? No, that wouldn't make sense. After all, none of them would shut up about it if they managed another member.

"I'm… not part of the art club." I took a few steps into the room, and shut the door behind me. "It's fine."

"Really?" Her grin drew wider as she stood up from her chair and planted her hands onto the desk. "So you don't mind?"

I would be lying if I said I didn't, since I'd already grown accustomed to the respite of the room, despite its occasional issues. Though I figured it wouldn't hurt to let someone share in the luxury. "Don't worry about it."

Her expression quickly changed from concerned to excited. She brightened up almost immediately.

Yea, definitely more like a cat. I could imagine her ears perking up in elation.

"Chitose Reiko! Class C."

I'd heard of Chitose Reiko before. In fact, it would be stranger if I hadn't. Though I'd never seen her in person, she seems to be a hot topic in the general populace of the school. After transferring here from central Tokyo last week, she made quite the impression. Her ditzy, carefree attitude had everyone's heads turned, and her odd, mysterious allure was what kept their eyes on her. She had a flamboyant and unpretentious personality that made her easy to get along with, so she quickly rose in popularity. By the end of the week, she'd gotten the attention of the press club, and was the headline for that Monday's issue; 'Chitose Reiko: The Sirius Among a Billion Stars!'

"Miyashita Marou, Class B."

"Miyashita Marou…" Chitose repeated, dragging each vowel for a little longer than normal. "Hm… what a strange name."

She squinted her eyes.

I frowned, "What's strange about it?"

Turning away from me with a whimsical twirl, she took a few steps towards the window on the opposite side of the room. "Nothing really. I just felt like saying it."

"Huh?"

"Ah… sorry. That was kinda weird, wasn't it?" She turned back towards me, the exact same smile as before, her hands behind her back this time. "My bad, hehe. Am I strange, Miyashita?"

She's definitely peculiar. I didn't really get it, but the way she carried herself was somewhat uncanny, albeit a little intoxicating. It felt like she was trying to portray a character. If an anime character came to life, it would be cool to talk to them, but also really weird. That's how conversing with her felt.

"A little bit?" Making someone upset today wasn't on my list of things to do, so I decided to bend the truth a tad. "Definitely at least a little weird."

Chitose seemed amused at my answer, "Most people say it's completely normal… The way I act, I mean." She approached me, with a slight spring in her step. "But the truth is, it is a little odd, isn't it?"

I nod. "Yea. Just a little."

"A little?" She smiled, prodding an answer out of me. "I'm no good at telling when people are lying, so you've gotta be honest with me."

I looked away from her. She'd gotten uncomfortably close without much room for me to back away. I was pinched. "...A lot."

She chuckled, drawing even closer to my face. "You're really interesting, Miyashita. Tell me, what do you see in my eyes?"

I cleared my throat to try and regain my composure. "Wh-what are you doing here anyway?" I was trying to change the topic, but also hoping she'd back up a bit to think about my question.

It worked. The expression on her face was a little dumbfounded as she backed away to a more comfortable position. Her pupils jumped from left to right then back to the left before she spoke, "I guess to get away from the crowd?"

"And you chose this room?"

"Well, the art club members are a little… eccentric? Is that the word you'd use? I figured people would avoid this place because of that… Gwehehe."

I am of the impression that a person who acted like she did wouldn't put any thought into their actions—or the actions of others—so it was a little frightening to hear her read out my exact thoughts from before.

The feeling that someone knew more about you than you were letting off was unpleasant—like they were staring straight into your soul. The thought of it made my skin crawl and every second that passed felt worse than the last. I glanced back at Chitose. Her eyes were still fixed onto me, but the warmth had disappeared into something cold and calculated. The longer I stared, the darker they got. My chest was tightening, but I couldn't look away.

"Miyashita?" She tilted her head.

Her voice brought me back to my senses, the warmth in her eyes returning with a blink.

"Sorry, I was just a little caught up in my own head"

"It's alright!" she laughed it off. "I'm not that pretty, am I?"

"It's not that-" I could feel the heat in my face rising as I rushed to cover my mouth. "I mean, you are. But- I mean- God damnit." 

The tension in the room was palpable. It'd gone completely silent aside from the light whooshes of wind that came through an ever so slightly opened window.

Chitose scratched the back of her neck, averting her gaze. "Ah, geez… I made you uncomfortable, didn't I?" she sighed, her bubbly demeanor turning sheepish. "I'm really sorry… for saying weird things like that. I should probably just leave…"

Maybe it was my imagination, but the feeling of uncertainty still loomed over my head. Is it possible she had the same ability that I did? Is that even within the realm of possibility? I couldn't think past my suspicion. This was my only chance to ask her. We go to the same school, but live in different worlds. Only through this coincidence did we meet. Once she walked through that door, we'd go back to our own worlds.

"Wait! Chitose!" I swallowed a lump in my throat as I spoke, "Can I ask you a question?"

She turned her head back towards me, "Yea..?"

"Do you… see stars in people's eyes?"