The afternoon sunlight filtering through the trees painted Ayumi in soft gold, her hair catching the light like autumn leaves caught mid-fall. Kaito didn't think he'd ever forget the way she smiled at him — not the polite, surface smile she gave to most people, but the real one. The kind that reached her eyes, making them crinkle just a bit at the corners.
Their silent conversation from the day before replayed in his mind as he stood at the edge of the courtyard, watching her from a distance. The words — or rather, the lack of them — still hung between them.
I want to know you better.
He had meant it. And judging by the way her hands had lingered mid-sign, she had felt it too.
Kaito was still a beginner at sign language — fumbling often, making Ayumi giggle when his clumsy hands twisted into accidental gibberish — but every time she corrected him, it felt like another small step closer.
And now, after their short conversations, he found himself wanting to understand more than just her signs. He wanted to understand her.
---
That chance came unexpectedly a few days later.
Kaito had shown up at the campus café, hoping to catch Ayumi during her usual study break. Instead, he found her sitting at a corner table, her back to the window, a small camera in her hands.
She hadn't noticed him at first, too focused on the world through her lens. Kaito lingered near the counter, watching as her fingers adjusted the settings with practiced ease. The camera was small, but well-worn — the kind of tool someone carried not as a hobby, but as a part of themselves.
It was fascinating to watch her work, her expression shifting subtly with each click of the shutter. Curious, Kaito ordered his drink and made his way over.
Ayumi looked up as his shadow fell across her table. Her smile was shy but welcoming, and she set the camera down, folding her hands neatly in her lap.
Hello, Kaito signed, slower this time, trying to get it right.
Hello, Ayumi replied, her hands moving with gentle precision.
Kaito's gaze drifted to the camera, and Ayumi followed his line of sight. Her smile softened as she picked it up again, cradling it like something precious.
You like photography? Kaito asked, fingers stumbling slightly over the word.
Ayumi's nod was immediate. She held up the camera, then pointed to her eyes, then back to the camera. The message was clear — this is how I see the world.
Kaito's heart squeezed a little at the realization. For Ayumi, who couldn't hear the world's sounds, her photos were more than just images. They were echoes — frozen moments that spoke louder than words ever could.
He pulled out his phone, hesitated, then held it up.
Show me your photos? he signed.
Ayumi blinked, surprised, but then her smile grew wider. She took his phone, typed a quick message, and passed it back.
Okay. But you show me yours too.
Kaito grinned, nodding eagerly. His photography skills were mediocre at best — blurry shots of ramen bowls and half-cropped sunsets — but if it meant getting to know her better, he'd gladly share.
---
They spent the next hour exchanging photos, their phones passing back and forth between them like secret letters. Ayumi's photos were stunning — soft-focus portraits of campus life, close-ups of rain-dappled leaves, candid shots of students laughing over coffee. Her world was quiet but vivid, every image bursting with life.
Kaito's photos, by contrast, were chaotic. Group selfies with Emi making exaggerated faces, action shots from soccer practice, and a truly disastrous attempt at latte art photography. Ayumi's silent laughter shook her shoulders, her eyes sparkling with delight as she swiped through them.
Somehow, the lack of spoken words didn't matter. Their photos spoke for them — a shared language of captured moments, a conversation in light and shadow.
---
It became their new ritual.
Whenever they met — under the courtyard tree, at the café, even in the library's sunlit corners — they'd exchange photos instead of words. Some were taken moments before they saw each other, small glimpses into their separate days. Others were older, snapshots of childhood trips or family pets, each photo a window into who they were beyond the silence.
Through those photos, Kaito learned that Ayumi loved the changing seasons, especially the fleeting blush of cherry blossoms in spring. She had a soft spot for stray cats and a weakness for perfectly plated desserts. Her favorite photo — a black-and-white shot of her grandparents holding hands — was worn at the edges from being carried everywhere.
And through his photos, Ayumi learned about Kaito too — his messy dorm room, his soccer team's chaotic dinners, the way his smile turned lopsided when he was embarrassed. She saw the world he belonged to, one filled with noise and motion, so different from her own… yet somehow, not so distant after all.
---
One crisp evening, after they'd exchanged their usual round of photos, Ayumi paused, her fingers tapping idly against her phone case.
Kaito noticed the hesitation and tilted his head.
Everything okay? he signed.
Ayumi glanced around the empty courtyard, her expression thoughtful. Then, slowly, she reached for her camera and turned it toward Kaito.
He blinked. "Me?"
She nodded.
He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly self-conscious. "I'm not very photogenic."
Ayumi shook her head, then signed, I want to remember this. Us.
The simplicity of the gesture — the quiet honesty of it — left Kaito momentarily speechless. He could only nod, offering a crooked smile as Ayumi raised her camera and clicked the shutter.
The sound was soft, barely more than a whisper, but to Kaito, it felt louder than any declaration.
They were capturing something — not just images, but something more fragile. Something neither of them had the words for yet.
Connection.
---
Later that night, Kaito lay in his dorm room, scrolling through the photos they'd exchanged that day. His own photos felt different now — no longer just random snapshots, but part of an ongoing dialogue with Ayumi. Each one a piece of himself offered silently, waiting for her response.
He wondered if Ayumi felt the same — if her photos were her way of reaching out across the space between them, offering pieces of her world for him to hold.
As he drifted off to sleep, his phone buzzed softly on his nightstand. A new message from Ayumi.
It was a photo.
Not of flowers or rain or sunsets — but of the two of them, side by side under the courtyard tree. Ayumi had set her camera on a timer, capturing them mid-laugh, her smile bright and open, Kaito's expression caught somewhere between surprise and joy.
Beneath the photo, a single caption in careful, deliberate text.
I'm glad we met.
Kaito's smile grew as he stared at the screen, his fingers tracing the edges of the image.
Me too, he whispered to the quiet room — and though Ayumi couldn't hear it, he knew somehow that she'd understand.
Because some things didn't need words.
Some things could only be said in silence — and through the touch of understanding.