The days carried on, painting the world in crisp autumn hues. The sky stretched in shades of pale blue, the wind carried a quiet chill, and the trees along the school grounds burned in reds and golds. To everyone else, life moved forward just as it always had.
To Aika, something felt off.
She couldn't place it—couldn't point to a single moment, a single word, or even a single look that confirmed her suspicions. But it was there, lingering in the silence between Riku's laughter, in the flicker of exhaustion behind his usual teasing smirk.
She told herself she was imagining things.
But then why did her heart feel heavier each time she looked at him?
---
A Sketch Left Unfinished
The art room was empty except for Aika, the soft scratching of her pencil filling the quiet space.
She sat by the window, the late afternoon light spilling onto her desk in warm golden streaks. The world outside looked so peaceful—leaves twirling in the breeze, students chatting as they left for the day.
And yet, her fingers tightened around the pencil.
Her sketchbook lay open before her, filled with hurried strokes of charcoal.
It was a drawing of Riku.
Not a traditional portrait—no clean lines, no perfect details. Instead, it was made of blurred edges, soft shading, and fleeting motion. A capture of how he looked when he played music, lost in the moment, his fingers gliding over strings as if they were an extension of himself.
But something was wrong.
No matter how much she adjusted the strokes, the image felt incomplete.
She stared at it, chewing on her lip, frustration bubbling in her chest. What am I missing?
The door creaked open behind her.
"Still here?"
Aika turned to see Riku leaning against the doorframe, his usual smirk in place, though his eyes held a quiet weariness she almost missed.
"Obviously," she muttered, wiping the charcoal dust off her fingers. "I had an idea I wanted to finish."
Riku stepped inside, hands stuffed into his pockets, before his gaze drifted toward her sketchbook.
"Lemme see."
Before she could protest, he picked it up, tilting his head as he studied it.
Aika felt her stomach tighten.
Riku's expression didn't change at first. His eyes moved over the page, taking in the lines, the shading, the small details only she would notice. Then, after a long pause—
A quiet chuckle.
"I look kinda cool here," he mused.
She rolled her eyes, trying to mask the warmth creeping up her neck. "You wish."
He tapped a section of the drawing lightly. "But this part... something feels a little off."
Aika exhaled, crossing her arms. "I know. I can't figure out what it is."
Riku hummed in thought, then grinned. "Maybe it's missing my overwhelming charm?"
She smacked his arm. "Be serious."
"I am serious," he said, laughing. But then his voice softened. "Maybe you just haven't found the right way to see it yet."
Aika frowned. "What does that even mean?"
He handed the sketchbook back to her, tilting his head slightly. "You'll know when you figure it out."
And just like that, he changed the subject. "By the way, you coming to the café later? Kaito's doing his birthday thing early."
Aika blinked at the sudden shift. "...Yeah, I'll go."
Riku gave her a lazy thumbs-up. "Good. Because if I had to suffer through a party without you, it'd be so tragic."
She snorted. "As if you'd actually suffer."
But as Riku leaned back in his chair, Aika noticed the way his fingers lightly tapped against his knee—like a nervous habit he didn't even realize he had.
---
An Unfinished Melody
The café hummed with warmth that evening.
Fairy lights twinkled above them, casting a golden glow over the wooden tables. The scent of coffee and pastries filled the air, blending with the sound of quiet conversations and soft music playing through the speakers.
Kaito grinned as he blew out the candle on his small cake. "Another year of being incredibly handsome."
"Debatable," Riku teased, taking a sip of his drink.
The group laughed, slipping into their usual banter. Aika found herself watching Riku out of the corner of her eye, observing the way his laughter came so easily.
But there was something beneath it.
A weight in the way he held himself.
A pause in the way he smiled.
And for the first time, she noticed something else.
The faint tremor in his hands.
It was subtle—so subtle that if she hadn't been looking, she wouldn't have caught it.
Her grip on her cup tightened.
"Oi, Riku," Kaito said suddenly, leaning forward. "Sing something."
Riku blinked. "Now?"
"Yeah! It's my birthday, so you have to."
The others cheered, and Riku let out an exaggerated sigh. "Fine, fine. You guys are so demanding."
Someone handed him a guitar.
And for just a second—
His fingers hesitated.
Then, he started playing.
The melody was slow, soft, nostalgic. His voice carried through the café, weaving into the air like something weightless.
But Aika felt it.
A weight beneath the notes.
A sadness that didn't belong there.
Her heart clenched.
Why did it feel like he was singing a song meant for a farewell?
---
A Question Left Unasked
The night air was crisp as they walked home together, the streets bathed in a soft glow from the streetlights.
Riku walked beside her, hands in his pockets, staring up at the sky.
"You know," he said suddenly, "I read somewhere that people remember music longer than they remember words."
Aika glanced at him. "Huh?"
He smiled faintly. "Even when memories start to fade, music stays. Weird, right?"
She frowned. "Why are you suddenly thinking about that?"
Riku was silent for a moment before shaking his head. "No reason. Just thought it was interesting."
Aika stopped walking.
"Riku."
He paused a few steps ahead, turning to her. "Hm?"
She hesitated.
This was it.
She could ask him.
She should ask him.
But as she looked at his face—at the way the streetlights softened his expression, at the quiet tiredness lingering in his eyes—
She couldn't do it.
Because what if he lied?
What if he didn't lie?
What if the answer changed everything?
"...Never mind," she muttered, looking away. "It's nothing."
Riku studied her for a moment, then smiled. "Alright, weirdo. Let's go before you start getting all philosophical on me."
Aika followed him, but the weight of unspoken words sat heavy in her chest.
And for the first time, she wondered—
What if she was running out of time to ask?