The next day at school, the weather was gray and chilly. Miyako sat at her desk before class, quietly sketching in her notebook. Drawing helped her focus — each line was like a whisper of calm in the noise of the new world around her.
She was sketching a girl standing under a cherry tree again — her favorite image, the one she'd started back in Tokyo. Only this time, the background had New York buildings instead of temples. A strange mix, but somehow, it felt right.
"Hey, that's really good."
Miyako froze. The voice was warm, curious. She looked up and saw a boy with messy brown hair and paint stains on his hoodie. He smiled, not teasingly, but like he actually meant what he said.
"I'm Ethan," he continued. "You're new, right? From Japan?"
She nodded shyly. "Yes. I am Miyako."
He grinned. "Cool name. You draw manga?"
Her eyes widened a little — no one had used that word here yet. "Y-Yes. I try… I want to make my own manga someday."
Ethan leaned closer, looking at her sketchbook. "That's awesome. I love comics too — more like American-style ones, but I've read a few manga. My favorite's One Piece."
Miyako blinked, then smiled softly for the first time in weeks. "I know One Piece too."
The bell rang, and they both hurried to their seats. But during class, Miyako felt something she hadn't felt since she arrived — a small spark of comfort. Someone had seen her art. Someone understood.
---
After School
Ethan caught up with her outside the school gate. "Hey, Miyako! There's an art club here, but it's kind of small. We mostly hang out and draw stuff together. You should come sometime."
She hesitated. "Art club?"
"Yeah! You'd fit right in. We've got one girl who does watercolor, and I paint. You could show them your manga sketches."
Miyako's heart fluttered. The thought of sharing her drawings made her nervous — what if they didn't like them? But something in Ethan's easy smile gave her courage.
"Okay," she said softly. "I will try."
Ethan grinned. "Awesome! Welcome to the chaos."
As she walked home that day, the city didn't seem quite as strange. The buildings still loomed tall, and the streets were still loud, but now there was one place — one person — that felt a little bit familiar.
That night, Miyako opened her sketchbook again and drew two figures:
A girl with a pencil, and a boy with a paintbrush, standing under the same tree — half cherry blossoms, half city skyline.
Below it, she wrote:
> "Maybe this is where my story begins."