Hana sat beneath the sakura tree during lunch break, one leg tucked under the other, her bento unopened on her lap.
She wasn't hungry.
Not really.
From a distance, laughter floated from the other students — groups sprawled across the schoolyard in little circles of warmth and noise. Spring sunlight flickered through the blossoms above her, painting faint shadows across her notebook. She wasn't writing. The pen in her hand had stilled five minutes ago.
Because she had seen it again.
That look.
The one Ren gave Sayaka when he thought no one else was watching.
It wasn't loud. It wasn't obvious. But Hana noticed. She always noticed.
It was the same way he used to look at her.
Only softer.
Less certain, maybe — but more real somehow. Like he didn't even know he was doing it.
And Sayaka…
Hana exhaled through her nose, brushing a loose strand of hair from her cheek.
Sayaka had always been the quiet one. Not shy exactly, but… deliberate. She chose her moments like a poet picked words: slowly, carefully, meaningfully.
It hadn't bothered Hana before. In fact, she'd admired it. Sayaka was thoughtful. Kind. Honest.
But now — now she wasn't sure how to feel.
Because somewhere between the quiet glances and the hushed silences in class, something had changed.
And Hana was still standing in the same place.
Watching.
Waiting.
Pretending not to care.
She finally set her bento down beside her and looked across the courtyard. Her eyes landed on them: Sayaka and Ren, sitting on the low wall near the garden, not talking much, but not apart either.
They weren't touching.
They weren't even laughing.
But there was something there.
That invisible line between friendship and something else. The kind of space where everything unsaid lingers like perfume.
Ren glanced toward Sayaka as she tucked something into her bag — a folded piece of paper. She did it quickly, subtly.
But Hana caught it.
The gesture was too purposeful. Too protective.
A letter?
Hana's throat felt suddenly tight.
She blinked and looked down at her own notebook.
Half a page of song lyrics stared back at her. Words about stars and silence and the ache of what almost was.
She drew a single line through the chorus. Then another.
And then she stopped.
Because her fingers were trembling.
After school, Hana lingered by her locker longer than necessary.
Sayaka passed by, her bag clutched to her chest, eyes focused ahead. She didn't notice Hana standing there.
Or maybe she did — and chose not to stop.
That hurt more.
Not because Hana needed attention.
But because it confirmed something.
Something she hadn't wanted to believe.
She turned to look over her shoulder and caught a glimpse of Ren, heading down the stairs. He paused briefly at the landing, looked toward the hallway Sayaka had just walked through — then kept going.
Hana's heart beat quietly, rhythmically.
The way it always had.
But for the first time, she didn't feel in control of it.
That night, Hana sat at her desk, headphones in, music off.
Just… silence.
Her notebook was open again, but she wasn't writing lyrics anymore.
She was drawing something. Slowly, absently.
A tree. Cherry blossoms.
Two figures standing beneath it — close, but not touching.
One of them was holding a letter.
The other didn't see it.
Not yet.
She looked down at the sketch and felt something sharp in her chest. Not jealousy.
Something sadder.
Not quite heartbreak.
Not yet.
She didn't cry. But she set the pencil down and whispered something she hadn't dared say out loud.
"I think I'm losing him."
Not because he was cruel.
Not because she'd done something wrong.
But because sometimes… you never see the moment someone drifts away.
Until they're already gone.