I didn't realize how quiet the hallway had become until she was gone.
Not empty—just… wrong.
Aya's footsteps faded around the corner, and something in my chest tightened, sharp and unfamiliar. I stood there longer than I should have, pretending to check my phone, pretending I wasn't watching the spot where she'd disappeared.
She always left like that.
Not running.
Not rushing.
Just… slipping away, like she was afraid of staying too long in one place.
I exhaled slowly and turned toward my classroom.
The door slid open with a familiar creak. My classmates were already in their seats, talking over one another about homework and weekend plans. Someone laughed too loudly. Someone else complained about a test.
Normal sounds.
I slid into my seat and stared at my desk.
Why did everything feel louder now?
"Rei," Yuna whispered, leaning across the aisle. "You okay?"
I nodded. "Yeah."
It was a lie, but a small one. Easier than explaining the truth—that my thoughts were still following someone down a hallway, tracing the outline of her shoulders, replaying the way her voice had softened when she spoke my name.
I'd never noticed things like that before.
Or maybe I just hadn't cared.
The teacher started talking. I tried to listen. I really did. But my notebook stayed blank except for the faint pressure marks where my pen hovered too long.
Aya's face kept appearing in my mind—how she looked when she was trying not to look at me. The way her fingers curled around her sketchbook like it was the only solid thing she could hold onto.
I frowned.
Why did that matter so much?
Lunch came, and with it the noise again. I sat with my friends like usual, smiling at the right times, laughing when expected.
"So," Yuna said, poking at her food, "are you gonna tell us what's going on with you and that girl from 2-B?"
I nearly choked on my drink.
"There's nothing going on."
"That's what people say when something is going on," Daichi replied, grinning.
I shook my head. "You're reading too much into it."
"Am I?" Yuna leaned in. "Because you've been smiling at your phone all day, and you keep glancing at the door like you're waiting for someone."
I opened my mouth to argue.
Then closed it.
Because she wasn't wrong.
"I just… talked to her," I said finally. "That's all."
"And?" Yuna pressed.
"And nothing," I repeated. "She's quiet. Different."
"That's your type," Daichi said.
I frowned. "I don't have a type."
"You do now," Yuna replied easily.
I rolled my eyes, but my chest felt warm again, uncomfortably so.
After school, the hallways were quieter. Lockers slammed shut. Footsteps echoed and faded.
I slowed near the stairwell without thinking.
She wasn't there.
I told myself I didn't care.
Still, I stood there for a moment longer than necessary, watching shadows stretch across the floor.
It was strange—how someone could enter your world so quietly and suddenly everything felt slightly off-center without them.
I didn't know what this was.
I didn't know what it meant.
But I knew one thing.
I wanted to see her again.
Not because I was curious.
Not because I was bored.
Because something about her made the noise in my head quiet down.
And that scared me more than anything else.