{The girl next to me has a cell phone!}

“Yamaguchi-kun, you type really fast,” a surprised voice came from the seat next to me.

I stopped fiddling with my phone and shifted my gaze from the screen to my left.

Our eyes met, and Sato-san in the neighboring seat looked taken aback.

“Oh, sorry. Am I bothering you?”

“No, not really,” I replied, shrugging.

I had just finished typing. As I sent the message, I informed Sato-san.

“I’m not that fast, really. There are plenty of kids faster than me.”

A cellphone is a tool for communication. It’s better if replies are fast. Since we exchange short messages in real-time, if the response is even slightly delayed, some people get anxious, irritated, or even complain. It’s annoying to argue over not getting a reply even after seeing that it’s been read. So, I made it a habit to reply immediately after reading.

“I think you’re plenty fast,” Sato-san said, tilting her head.

“At least much faster than me. I can’t manage during break times, so I always reply when I get home.”

“I see.”

I replied casually, but internally, I thought it was so much like her.

That’s just how Sato-san is.

Slow in everything she does, clumsy, and inefficient. It would probably take her a long time to write an email as well.

Thinking that far, I was a little surprised.

“Sato-san, do you have a cellphone?”

It felt unexpected. Nowadays, it’s rare for high school students not to have one, but with Sato-san, the question of whether she could use it properly arose first. She probably hadn’t even read half of the manual.

“Yeah, I have one.”

Despite my surprise, Sato-san nodded.

She brightly replied, patting her uniform pocket.

“I usually keep it turned off, and I don’t have time to read it at school, so it just stays in my pocket.”

“I see…”

That Sato-san would have a smartphone was a surprise to me.

Honestly, I could only imagine her typing with both hands, slowly deliberating over each word.

“So, when I saw Yamaguchi-kun typing away with one hand, I thought it was amazing.”

Sato-san continued with a smile.

“It’s nice. People who get a quick reply from Yamaguchi-kun must be happy.”

Looking at her carefree smile, I felt oddly uncomfortable.

Perhaps because I had thought of something quite rude. I averted my eyes and asked back.

“…Is that so? Why?”

“Because it’s nice to get a quick reply, isn’t it?”

I wonder. I rather think it’s natural to be fast.

Since the phone is always “on,” it’s common sense to respond when someone contacts you.

If someone wants a reply, you should respond as quickly as possible.

I had always thought that was common courtesy and a key to maintaining good relationships, so I had never really thought about the other person’s feelings at such times.

“It’s nice to get a quick reply when you want it. You feel like someone is rushing for your sake, and you feel really connected.”

Sato-san said.

“I’m really slow at typing. I think about the content of the reply, hesitate, choose each word, and end up with a very slow response.”

She said with a cheerful laugh, in a tone that clearly showed admiration.

“So, I always do it at home. That way, I can think carefully about my reply. I’ve been thinking about how to reply to that message all day.”

She continued talking cheerfully to me, who didn’t even give a nod of agreement.

“People laugh at me, saying there’s no point in having a cellphone.”

Certainly, it’s pointless.

Maybe a cellphone isn’t suitable for Sato-san.

But even that might mean she’s still connected.

She’s always thinking about her reply to the person who contacted her.

Isn’t that a way for her feelings to be connected to that person?

Maybe the people connected to Sato-san would feel happy about her always thinking about them, , even if they’re not in touch all day.

I raised my face instinctively.

“Sato-san, that’s—”

But as I was about to say something, my phone in my hand vibrated, and a short, brisk notification tone sounded.

The words I was about to say retreated into my throat.

“Oh, sorry for bothering you while you’re busy.”

Sato-san smiled at me as if urging me on.

And I could only look at the screen, feeling strangely irritated by the cheerful stamps jumping around there.

—But that’s right. It’s not my concern.

Just because we’re desk mate doesn’t mean Sato-san and I are connected. Our paces are too different. There’s such a gap even in how we exchange messages.

It’s weird to want to know who Sato-san is replying to and how she’s forming her replies.

I couldn’t find a reason to ask for her contact information too, so in the end, I remained silent.