Next to my favorite Fuyuma, there was always someone.

His friend.

His best friend.

His girlfriend.

Then one day,

He and the committee were together.

Every Wednesday at lunchtime, they watered the flowerbeds on the school grounds.

That was all.

But for me, that time was truly blissful.

I could see him.

I could look at his face.

Maybe I’d even get to talk to him.

Yet I still hadn’t spoken a single word to him.

And now, blooming right before my eyes,

“Haze Grass.”

Its flower language is:

“A supporting role.”

It made me chuckle a bit—just like me.