I was stunned by her question. It was like she didn’t even realize that she was committing a crime.

  Ignoring her question, I quickly asked, “You do realize breaking and entering is a crime right?”

  Her eyes widened a bit before curling her lips into a devilish grin. “Is it considered breaking in when the door is unlocked? I believe I only entered the room.”

  My mouth fell agape. I wanted to protest her flawed logic but somehow it made sense, even if irrationally.

  “So, do you write stories?” She asked again.

  Yep. I think I’m about to be murdered.

  “N-not really. I guess here and there but I don’t really write stories.”

  “Why? You have all these concepts here.”

  “Did you look through all of it?”

  “Yeah, with all these concepts you’d think that there would be a story with at least one of them.” She paused briefly before continuing, “Can you please stop answering my questions with questions?”

  “S-sorry. I don’t really write stories. It’s kind of a hobby more than anything.”

  She took in my words and looked to the side for a bit. It was the first time a girl has ever been in my room. Sadly, instead of it being a romcom moment, it felt like the devil was interrogating me.

  “Uhm… So why did you enter my room?”

  It was a normal question.

  She replied in a casual tone, her voice oddly soothing even with the strange situation:

  “Well, I was walking back to my room but I went into the wrong door and since it wasn’t locked I didn’t think twice.”

  “You’re lying aren’t you.”

  “Yes I am,” she replied matter-of-factly.

  What the hell?

  “Anyway, what’s your name?”

  She really does control the situation.

  “Before asking for someone's name shouldn’t you give yours first?”

  To my surprise, she actually apologized.

  “I’m sorry. You are right. My name is Yuki Asagiri, and yours?”

  “I’m Haru Kisaragi. Uhm… Thanks for not calling me disgusting again.”

  It was true, she actually didn’t have a disgusted look in her eyes for once while looking at me.

  “Oh no. I still think you’re disgusting. I just wanted to know why a boy was in the girls’ dormitory.”

  There I go jinxing myself.

  “How!? And also, how does being curious have anything to do with committing a crime!?”

  I was shocked at how emotional I was. Part of the problem probably came from a lack of socializing but the other half was just genuine confusion. I mean, what kind of fictional situation is this?

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  “Again, I entered. I didn’t break into anything. You’re also disgusting because the first thing you did when you saw me was ogle me like a pervert.”

  Hey, I only looked for a second too long. What does she mean like a pervert?

  “Where did you get the pervert thing from? I was just taken aback by how pretty you were!”

  I covered my mouth when I realized what I had said. In the process of trying to defend myself, I accidentally spoke too honestly.

  “See what I mean? I guess all guys are the same,” she said with a sigh.

  Despite her words, I couldn’t help but notice that she was twirling her hair between her fingers. Was she embarrassed?

  “Hey, I complimented you honestly. What do you mean all guys are the same?”

  “Exactly what I said. Anyway, before I forget the one good point you have—”

  I cut her off, “that being?”

  “You write.”

  I was at a loss for words. Why was that my only good point? Actually, how is that a good point?

  “How is writing a good point? Anyway, can you please tell me why you broke into my room?”

  “Is your hair dyed? You know that’s against school rules right?”

  Yuki Asagiri was a hypocrite. At least it seemed that way. She just answered my question with her own question.

  “No it’s not dyed, it’s natural. Can you please stop ignoring the one question I’ve asked you?”

  “What question?”

  Her face was the definition of aloof when she asked that. Was she some kind of comedy actor?

  Groaning, I asked, “Alright. Fine. Don’t tell me. Can you just tell me what you want from me?”

  There was silence after that. It was almost like she hadn’t expected me to ask the question.

  Maybe due to the rollercoaster of emotions I’ve felt till now, but her perfume was really strong. I was still standing by the door to my room and could smell the sweet fragrance coming from her direction.

  Or it could be her shampoo. I’m not an expert.

  After a few more moments passed, she finally decided to speak up:

  “When I first saw you ogle me, and noticed that you had dyed—sorry, naturally white hair. I thought you were some delinquent.”

  Ouch. I’d say I look like an antisocial unkempt guy, but sure. I can’t disagree with her. I still don’t know if she planned to kill me or not.

  She continued, “After I bro—entered your room, I noticed the notebook on your desk and got curious.”

  “You were about to say broke into, weren’t you.”

  She proceeded to ignore me.

  “I actually like to read a lot. So when I saw it, I couldn’t help but want to read it. Then I realized it wasn’t just silly notes but actual character concepts.

  “They’re not bad, you know. The concepts. I just think you can’t figure out what you want to write.”

  I was shocked. She wasn’t wrong at all, but still. It was nothing more than a hobby. Why was she so curious about my writing?

  “Well yeah, but why does that interest you?”

  She smiled for the first time since I met her, “Wouldn’t any reader be curious about an author and their writing process?”

  “...That’s true. I can’t say I’m any different. I read a lot as well.”

  “I see. Well, anyway. I can solve your problem.”

  “Huh…?”

  How did she expect to fix a problem I didn’t care about solving?

  “Write about me.”

  “...”

  What was she talking about? That’s not a story. That would be writing an autobiography. Why would she want something like that?

  However, before I could even ask. She got up and walked up towards me.

  “Seeing that you’re stunned. I’ll let you think about it. Could you please move so I can leave?”

  Without a reply I stepped to the side, completely bewildered. No one had ever asked me something like that. Yuki left my room after that, and left me with nothing but my own thoughts.

  I couldn’t explain why I was so stuck on her words. I just was.

  Why would she want me to write about her?

  “Wait a second,” I blurted out.

  She never told me why she broke in.

  I flopped to my bed and began groaning.

  My good night’s sleep was going to be ruined by trying to figure this out.