Avoidance is an art form. I became a master in a single day.
I learned the alternate staircases, the hallways that were less traveled between periods. I mapped the school in my head, not as a place of learning, but as a grid of potential Sina-sightings to be circumvented. I became a ghost in my own school, a phantom flitting through the periphery.
But I couldn't stop myself from watching. From a distance. It was a form of self-flagellation, a penance for the confusion I had caused.
During second period, I saw her through the window of her classroom door. She was staring out the window, her pen hovering over her notebook, not writing. Her brow was furrowed with that same lost, searching expression from the morning. She wasn't just distracted; she seemed profoundly unsettled. The blank slate wasn't clean today. It was smudged with the ghost of a question.
At lunch, Zeke found me in my new hiding spot: a secluded corner of the library behind a dusty shelf of forgotten encyclopedias. He slammed a carton of milk and a melon pan on the table, his usual boisterous energy subdued to a library-appropriate whisper-yell.
"This is stupid," he hissed, sitting down. "You're hiding like you're on the school's most wanted list. What did that Sora girl say to you?"
"She told me the truth," I muttered, picking at the wrapper of the melon pan, my appetite gone. "That I was hurting Sina. That if I cared about her, I'd stay away."
"By making her feel like she's going crazy looking for someone who isn't there?" Zeke shot back, his voice rising in volume. "I saw her in the hall. She looks like a lost puppy, Kel. I don't think your disappearing act is the genius 'act of kindness' you think it is."
A nearby student shot us a glare. SHHHH!
Zeke ignored them. "This isn't fixing anything. It's just... a different kind of breaking."
His words hit their mark, because I knew he was right. My grand, noble sacrifice was just making things worse in a new and inventive way. Sina wasn't at peace; she was haunted. And I was the ghost.
The final classes of the day were the worst. We had history together. I usually sat two rows behind her, a comfortable distance where I could see the back of her head, the way she'd absentmindedly twirl a strand of her lilac hair.
Today, I sat in the farthest possible corner, my hood pulled so low it practically covered my eyes. The entire class, I was acutely aware of her. I felt her presence like a magnetic pull. A few times, I saw her shift in her seat, her head turning slightly, as if she could sense me there, a familiar presence she couldn't place. Every movement was a fresh torment.
I was so focused on her that I didn't notice the other pair of eyes in the room that were fixed on me.
When the final bell rang, I was the first one out of my seat, my bag already slung over my shoulder. I needed to escape. I bolted out the door, moving quickly through the throng of students.
"Ishida!"
A sharp voice cut through the noise. My blood turned to ice. It was Sora.
I stopped, turning slowly. She was striding towards me, her expression unreadable. There wasn't the cold anger from yesterday, but something else. Something more complicated.
"We need to talk," she said, her tone leaving no room for argument.
She led me to the same stairwell where Sina had had her impossible memory-flicker. It felt like returning to the scene of a crime.
"My plan isn't working," she said without preamble, her arms crossed. Her bluntness was disarming.
I stared at her. "What?"
"My plan," she repeated, her sharp eyes boring into me. "Forcing you to stay away from her. I thought it would restore the status quo. I thought by morning, she'd reset, and the 'static' from yesterday would be gone. I was wrong."
She took a breath, and for the first time, I saw a crack in her armor. I saw the exhausted, terrified friend underneath the fierce guardian.
"She's worse today than she was yesterday," Sora admitted, the words tasting like defeat. "She woke up anxious. She spent all morning looking for someone. She keeps saying she feels like she's forgotten something incredibly important, more than usual. She wrote in her notebook, 'There's a missing piece today. I can feel it.'"
My heart shattered. A missing piece. That's what I was.
"I thought... I was helping," I whispered, the guilt churning in my stomach.
"So did I," Sora conceded, her gaze softening with a hint of something that looked suspiciously like empathy. "I protect her by managing her environment. I eliminate variables. You were the biggest variable I'd ever seen. But it turns out, removing a variable after it's already been introduced just creates a vacuum. A void. And that's scaring her even more than the confusion did."
She let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through her dark hair. "I've never seen anything like this. It's like your little stunt yesterday, talking about that song, it... it knocked something loose. Something that the reset couldn't scrub away completely."
We stood in silence for a moment, two adversaries suddenly and reluctantly on the same side, united by our shared, clumsy, and failing attempts to protect the same girl.
"So what now?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper. I was completely lost. Hiding was torture. Approaching was forbidden. What was left?
Sora looked me up and down, a new, calculated light in her eyes. She was re-evaluating the equation. Re-classifying me from 'threat' to... something else.
"I don't know," she said honestly. "But I know what we're doing now isn't working. It's breaking my 'predictable and calm' rule, and it's breaking your... whatever it is you do." She paused. "Tomorrow is a new day. A new variable is required."
She looked me straight in the eye, her expression deadly serious. "Be at the gates tomorrow morning, Ishida. And this time... don't you dare hide."