As the train continued on its journey, I watched over Kenji as he slept. It had been about 15 minutes since he'd closed his eyes and leaned against the pole to rest. As I gazed at him, it was clear that his reaction was rooted in his innate shyness and embarrassment.
Just as I was lost in these thoughts, a harsh voice startled me. "Would you mind telling your boyfriend to sit fucking normally?!"
I jolted, turning to see a guy I didn't recognize glaring down at us. My cheeks instantly flared with heat. Boyfriend?
"H-huh?" I stammered, my brain struggling to process the unexpected outburst and the mortifying assumption all at once. The stranger's irritation didn't waver.
People were starting to stare, and the last thing I wanted was for Kenji to wake up to this.
"I'm sorry! Please don't shout..." I pleaded, keeping my voice low. "I'll move him." With a sigh, I made a quick decision.
Gently, I guided Kenji's shoulders away from the pole, moving him back to a conventional seated position. Without letting myself overthink it, I allowed his head to drop softly onto my shoulder to keep him asleep. The guy scoffed and immediately dropped into the vacant space. As he settled in, I couldn't help but observe that he wore our school's uniform.
It was clear that the guy had noticed my concern and protective gesture toward Kenji. But the idea of Kenji being my boyfriend was something I hadn't considered, and it wasn't how I saw our relationship.
Truth be told, I'd never had a boyfriend before. My mind began to wander, considering what I might want in a romantic relationship, but it certainly hadn't involved Kenji.
Nevertheless, I decided to brush off the misunderstanding. For now, there was a more immediate concern, making sure Kenji could rest undisturbed during the remainder of the train ride.
The train grew increasingly crowded as more students in our school's uniform filed in. Their curious stares didn't escape my notice, and the reason behind their inquisitiveness was quite evident. Yet, being the subject of their attention was undeniably uncomfortable. I couldn't help but feel their collective watch of us, and it made me acutely aware of the situation.
I was determined to keep Kenji asleep. If he were to awaken now, he'd find himself nestled against my shoulder in this cramped train car, with a sea of students bearing witness to this unintentional intimacy. The mere thought of his potential embarrassment made my heart race.
As I contemplated what lay ahead at school, my mind wandered to the inevitable gossip and rumors that would ensue. People would undoubtedly speculate about the nature of our relationship. It wasn't challenging to clarify that we were merely good friends, but the true challenge lay in addressing the unasked questions. Rumors have a way of multiplying, I knew from my experiences in middle school. They ranged from utterly fabricated tales to painfully accurate accounts.
The prospect of navigating these corridors of unfounded whispers weighed heavily on my mind. How many people would be content with a simple "we're not a couple" response? How many would take that statement at face value without delving further? The train was beginning to feel less like a mode of transportation and more like a harbinger of future complexities.
Then, my tranquility was disrupted by an unexpected sound, a low click followed by the distinct sound of a camera shutter. I instinctively turned my head toward the source of the disruption, and my eyes met those of a girl. She was standing not too far from us, and she had our school uniform. In her hand, she held her smartphone aloft, pointed directly at Kenji and me. At first, her motions mimicked someone texting, as if she were trying to hide her true intentions. But the awkward 90-degree angle at which she held her phone gave away her real purpose: she was filming us.
My heart raced as a mix of embarrassment, irritation, and curiosity welled up within me. Why was she filming us? Or was she just after some cheap thrill again?
Kenji was still sleeping, softly unaware of the attention we were receiving. The girl's hushed giggles confirmed that I had become the subject of her amusement. I exchanged a few cautious glances with the girl, trying to communicate my unease, but her response was to pretend she was just texting. I wondered what she intended to do with the footage. Would she share it with friends, upload it online, or simply keep it for her amusement? The uncertainty gnawed at me.
I sighed, frustration swirling in my gut. I couldn't allow this to continue.
Gently, I shifted Kenji's head from my shoulder to the chair he had been leaning on. Despite the risk of him waking up and the curious stares from other passengers, I stood up.
Determined, I marched over to the girl. She was still fiddling with her phone, her thumb hovering over the screen.
"Excuse me," I said, my voice sharp enough to cut through the train's hum.
"Hm?"
"Did you take a video of us?"
"Maybe. Do you have a problem with that?"
She didn't seem hesitant to admit it, which surprised me. Most people would deny it.
"Yes, I don't consent to you taking a video of me," I replied, trying to keep my tone even.
Her reply was confrontational, and she raised her voice. People had begun to notice our exchange, including the guy from earlier who had shouted at me. At least now, the focus was on our confrontation, and Kenji was no longer the center of attention.
"Do you think I care about your consent?"
Unfazed, I continued, "It doesn't matter. Please delete anything related to me."
"What are you going to do if I don't? Tell your boyfriend?"Her mention of the word 'boyfriend' made me sigh in pure frustration. I needed to shut this down right now. "He isn't my boyfriend. We're just good friends, that's all."
"As if! Who lets a 'good friend' sleep on their shoulder? You're just doing it for the attention, aren't you? Some desperate drama queen trying to act all cinematic?"
She laughed, her voice resonating through the train, where more and more passengers were now turning their heads and watching us as if it were some kind of live TV drama show. Our little incident had undeniably become the center of attention, and the intensity of the stares was palpable.
I asserted myself, "It's none of your business. Please delete it, or I'll report this."
Defiant, she retorted, "To whom? The police? You think you would get away with that?" She said with a defiant tone, her eyes narrowing. It seemed like she was gearing up for a confrontation, ready to argue her point, and she certainly wasn't going down without a fight.
I kept my composure and delivered a final warning. "The school. I'll report you to the school."Her defiant demeanor faltered.
The initial arrogance gave way to a flash of genuine panic. Getting reported to the police was one thing, but getting hauled into the administration office on the second day of high school? That was a threat she actually understood.
She weighed the trouble it would cause her, her eyes darting nervously."W-Whatever," she muttered with disdain.
She reluctantly unlocked her phone and opened the gallery. As I glanced at the screen, I noticed at least half a dozen photos and a short video clip. My stomach twisted.
"Delete all of it," I insisted.Without further protest, she selected the files and tapped the trash icon. Relief washed over me, though my heart was still hammering in my chest.
"Thank you," I expressed my gratitude, but she only responded with a disgruntled noise before walking away.
As I returned to my seat, my heart continued to race, and the awareness of the passengers around me lingered. I couldn't help but wonder if others had discreetly taken photos, their intentions hidden. I settled back into my seat, clutching my bag tightly, and let out a sigh of relief, grateful that the situation had finally come to an end.