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Ayano Aishi does not know what love is.
She has never experienced the bloom of warmth in her chest nor the explosive euphoria of reciprocation.
Her mother says that one day, when she meets her special someone, she will know it. Though Ayano doesn't say it, she does not believe her mother.
The first time she ever experienced something akin to love was when mother nearly broke the arm of a too-touchy doctor. She had felt at ease when mother carried her away, gentle fingers running through her hair and sweet comfort whispered in her ears.
The second time was when mother had left to visit family and it was just her and father.
Her father was a confusing puzzle to Ayano, stiff and tired yet so caring all the same.
This was a time before she learned to clean up on her own, almost going to school with a birds' nest for hair before father saw her and sat her down, a dainty comb in hand.
It was pretty, a pale glittering pink with a single rose etched on the handle.
He had gently brushed through her hair, braiding it with a blue ribbon and kissed her head before dropping her off at school, a silent affirmation.
I love you.
No, Ayano Aishi does not know what love is but she's beginning to understand.
Love is a warm embrace and soft-spoken sweet nothings, Love is a hair comb and a kiss on the head.
And Taro Yamada is not love.
Which is why she doesn't move or speak or breathe as she watches him embrace the girl with long sunset-orange hair beneath the cherry blossoms. Her 'heart' twists, crying out in agony but Ayano herself feels nothing.
This is not love, so she will let him go. She feels a sort of relief at the blushing cheeks and beaming smile of Najimi but she pushes it aside as she makes her way to the school gates.
And if her gaze lingers a little too long on a shy boy who covers his face with his hair and has scarred fingertips from sewing, then no one has to know.