When did I first start to fall for him?
The thought comes to me suddenly, and I look back.
The first time I met him was at the entrance ceremony.
My adoptive father had strictly instructed me, “Do not cause any trouble.”
So from the very beginning, I knew who he was—and I remember my impression of him clearly.
A very quiet, composed person.
That was how he seemed, and I think most of our classmates saw him that way too.
The girls in class described him as handsome, but reserved.
But I didn’t see him as someone quiet.
Looking back now… I think I was afraid of him.
If I had to compare him to something, he was like a great tree—or a dense forest.
Calm. Still.
And yet… holding immense strength.
That’s what I felt.
Even after we ended up in the same class, we barely spoke.
I didn’t want to get involved with boys, and he didn’t seem particularly interested in me either.
So when my adoptive father told me, “He wants a marriage arrangement with you,” I was surprised.
He had clearly been indifferent to me.
Was it really true that he liked me?
Even as I doubted it, I couldn’t refuse the proposal… and I agreed.
And, as it turned out, my adoptive father had misunderstood.
If anything, he didn’t seem particularly keen on the arrangement.
Which made sense.
Marriage—engagement—while still in high school…
It was hard to even imagine.
That’s why, perhaps—
I thought he might agree to my unreasonable request for a fake engagement.
And in the end, he did.
To protect me.
He was kind. Considerate.
That became part of my impression of him.
If you asked me whether I already loved him back then… I don’t know.
At the very least, I don’t think I felt anything that strong at the time.
I can’t say for certain because, when I look back now, his kindness made me so happy, so reassured—and at the same time… it made my chest ache.
After that, due to how things unfolded, I started visiting his house once a week.
I got to learn a lot about him.
And before I realised it, I had told him about myself—about my family situation too.
Most people, when they learn about my circumstances, react in one of two ways.
They either interfere—unhelpfully—or they run away.
No… that might be too convenient a way of putting it.
My stepbrother would sometimes try to “help.”
Even though he couldn’t actually do anything, he would meddle, and it only made my position worse.
That’s why—even though I wanted help—I started saying I didn’t need it.
Because they would try to help without being able to.
And when that happens, it only makes things worse for me.
Since I rejected help, people started to look away… or leave.
I want help.
But I don’t want help.
I want someone to help me, but only in the exact way that suits me.
It’s selfish. Self-serving. Arrogant.
There’s no way a convenient prince on a white horse would exist—someone who could understand the intentions I never voice and act on them perfectly.
There shouldn’t be.
And yet… he is exactly that prince.
He told me he’d be on my side.
He tried to help me as much as he could.
But he never did anything forceful that would worsen my situation.
Maybe I’m romanticising it.
Maybe it was just coincidence.
Even so… he looked at me properly, understood what I couldn’t say, respected my wishes, and did exactly what I needed.
This person would protect me.
That’s how I began to feel.
And that’s why… I felt safe with him.
Safe enough to go on that pool date.
It was there that Ayaka-san and Chiharu-san asked me—
Do you like him?
I don’t know when I started to love him.
But if I had to say when I became aware of it… it was then.
First, I felt relieved.
Relieved that they had someone (though I’m not even sure what to call that relationship—if he’s their boyfriend, then Satake-san would be two-timing, and they both accept that? I truly don’t understand, and it bothers me, but that’s not important right now).
More importantly, I was relieved to confirm that there was nothing between him and them.
And when they asked me whether I liked Yuzuru-san—
I realised it.
I love him.
Then, on the day of the summer festival, it became certain.
He forgave my lie.
I could trust him.
I felt safe with him.
I felt like… I could even entrust my body to him.
When he held me, my heart raced.
When he patted my head, I felt at ease.
And sometimes, I even felt the urge to tease him by patting his head in return.
That’s when I clearly understood—
This is love.
I don’t know if he felt the same way about me.
But he protected me from my mother.
And he was genuinely happy with the small, humble birthday gift I gave him.
That’s why… I felt a bit guilty.
Because I hadn’t given him anything in return.
I only kept being helped—without ever even saying help me.
I was pushing all the responsibility onto him.
It made me feel… ugly.
So I lashed out at him.
I told him I was a terrible person.
That he didn’t really know me.
It was irrational. Selfish. Unfair.
And yet—
He accepted me.
Even knowing that I was “terrible,” he still affirmed me.
I still feel guilty.
But… my heart felt lighter.
At the same time, I realised I had to give something back to him.
I couldn’t just keep receiving—I had to give too.
But… what could I even do for him?
All I could really offer was making him lunch.
Even so, he was happy.
He always told me it was delicious.
At some point, I started thinking—
I wouldn’t mind making lunch for him forever.
I’d even like to cook dinner for him every day.
Then, on Christmas, he told me he wanted me to keep cooking for him.
It felt like a proposal.
Of course, I don’t think he meant it that way.
But even if it had been—
I would have nodded.
Gladly.
At that moment, I thought—
I wouldn’t mind marrying this person.
With him, I could imagine a future.
Getting married. Becoming a family. Having children. Growing old together. Being surrounded by grandchildren.
For the first time, the idea of marrying him—something I’d avoided thinking about—began to feel real.
I found myself staring at the necklace he gave me, imagining our life together.
I had already suspected it, but—
He likes me too.
I could tell just from the necklace.
It was a beautiful, branded piece.
I knew at a glance—
He understood my tastes.
He had listened, remembered what I said when we went to the cinema together.
And it was expensive.
For him, who worked part-time to support himself, it couldn’t have been a small purchase.
You wouldn’t give something like that to someone you didn’t love.
So… he must like me.
Our relationship was a fake engagement.
But that was based on the assumption that we didn’t have feelings for each other—and that once I could stand on my own, we would break it off.
That assumption had already collapsed.
I love him.
He loves me.
In that case, we could just continue like this.
And eventually, we would become a real engaged couple… and get married.
I was naively thinking that—
When suddenly, my adoptive father said—
“You don’t have to marry him if you don’t want to.”
