[Short-Short] Spring Was Blue

Was my spring blue? Sitting in a cafe, I let my thoughts wander to the not-so-distant past.
Aspiring to be a novelist, I was planning to enter a contest on a certain novel submission site. It was a very simple contest: write a story based on a specified theme. The theme this time was 'A Page of Youth.' I had already read a few of the works submitted by other users. As expected, there were many 'sparkling' stories that fit the classic mold, such as the moment of confessing to someone you had feelings for, or the story leading up to winning a club tournament. There were also quite a few works that captured casual, everyday life, like studying with friends or grabbing a snack on the way home. When I say 'casual,' I am speaking in general terms. Even when I look back on my own student life, I can't find anything like that. My student days were ordinary and unremarkable. Since I was a child, I was bad at starting conversations, so I was always reading a book at my desk. I didn't have anyone I could call a best friend, and I wasn't the type to take the lead in events.
But I am a girl, too. There was a boy I liked from the moment we were in the same class. He had the exact opposite personality to me, and I thought our looks didn't match either, so I just watched him from afar and naturally couldn't confess. I think I did think about doing it once. It was when I read a romance manga and learned about the trope where 'the person who is my opposite is also interested in me.' Well, by the next day, I had returned to reality, thinking, 'That's impossible.'
Youth. To me, it is something dazzling and enviable.
After agonizing over it for a while, I decided to write a 'sparkling' story about the moment of confession. If it's a classic trope, I've read plenty of them in novels and manga. If I use that knowledge, I should be able to manage. I felt that the 'casual everyday' route would be harder to write unless I had actually experienced it. That would be a different story if I had a rich imagination.
To tell the truth, the 'sparkling' route didn't work either. I tried to describe a confession scene by referring to the works I had read so far, but I couldn't come up with the girl's words. In reality, saying 'I've always liked you' would be enough. However, that doesn't work in a novel. Anything without personality will just be buried by the more powerful works. The same goes for the emotions. The naive idea that 'since I'm a girl too, I can imagine it' was immediately crushed. All I could imagine were the common feelings of hope and nervousness before a confession. Only those who have actually done it know what they see and what they think when they face the other person.

Maybe it's not meant to be this time... Should I try the next contest instead...?

With a feeling of almost giving up, I leaned my tired back against the chair and let out a sigh. As I stretched and looked around the shop, a group of four boys in school uniforms walked in. They must have stopped by on their way home from school. After sitting down and ordering, they were chatting happily. Ah, that's what youth is, I thought, almost smiling, but I hurriedly tensed my face. Should I risk embarrassment and try to interview them? As I thought about things I couldn't possibly do, a staff member brought their drinks, and when the boys turned toward me, I immediately looked away and reached for the coffee on my desk. As I drank my coffee while staring at a single point with unnatural intensity, a black shadow stopped in the corner of my vision. A girl passing by the front of the cafe had stopped and was looking into the shop. She was a neat and quiet-looking girl. Where her gaze was directed was... that group of four. I see, that uniform, they're classmates. When I looked again, she had already started walking away. Her face as she watched the four of them, and her back as she walked away with her head slightly bowed—I felt a sense of nostalgia for those things.
I watched the group of four for a while after that, but I couldn't forget the girl from earlier. I wonder if the person she likes is among those four. Her eyes at that time, her atmosphere—it felt the same as me back then. It's youth, isn't it? I thought to myself. At the same time, it hit me.

This is also youth.

Youth isn't just about sparkling things or fun daily life. Resenting yourself somewhere for not being able to fit in with others, or not having the courage because you don't have confidence in yourself. Those gloomy days are also 'a page of youth.'

I will write. My youth. It doesn't have to be a classic. It doesn't have to be sparkling.

I sat back in my chair and straightened my back again.
Once I started writing the new story, the words flowed with surprising ease. I chose that day when I was influenced by a romance manga, only to remember reality and give up the next day.
The dream I saw at night, walking hand in hand with him. The pounding of my heart that continued for a while after I woke up. The walk to school with a glimmer of hope in my heart. The gradual return of my composure. The reality I fully realized once I sat at my desk. Ah, I can't do it. The same old day, nothing changed. I glance at him while reading a book, but I am not in his consciousness. The content of the book doesn't sink in. If our eyes met here now, something might change. I looked at him several times, but my wish did not come true. Far away. This is reality.
It is ironic. Because it was a real experience, the scenes and emotions came to mind vividly. It was painful to write. If I had called him out and told him my feelings back then, what would have happened? Was I really not in his consciousness? Now, belatedly, feelings of regret well up from the depths of my heart. But this is the past. And this is my youth.
I wrote frantically, and when I read it back after completion, it had become a story about the melancholy of a student who had seen reality. However, I posted it to the site without hesitation. If I hesitated, I would be proving that my past was not youth. That was certainly my youth. My spring was also blue. I can say that clearly now. Immersed in the sense of accomplishment of finishing the novel and the emotion of realizing my own youth, I sent my deepest gratitude to the students who made me realize it.
This work might not be chosen for the contest. What the judges are looking for might be the ideal 'sparkling' youth that everyone holds. That's fine. I might be wrong to say this, but I'm happy that someone will see it now that I've posted it to the site. My current wish is a little different from being chosen for the contest. Well, if I am chosen, it will come true sooner. I hope this thought reaches those who have the same feelings as me, or those who have had them, and those who haven't realized their own youth yet. Of course, that girl too.

Your spring is blue, too.