The school never felt as heavy as it did that day. Rumors had spread since morning—Hana was leaving. No one believed it at first, but by lunch it was confirmed. Transfer papers. Farewell hugs. A seat that would be empty tomorrow.
For me, Hana wasn't just another classmate. She was the girl who always found ways to lighten the air, to add something bright in dull days. And now, watching her pack her books, I realized just how easily people could slip away.
Maybe that's why the air between us all changed. Everyone was quiet, even Peryn.
When the final bell rang, I caught Hana's eye. She smiled at me—brave, but trembling underneath. "Don't get boring without me, Luna," she whispered, hugging me tight. My chest ached.
That night, I kept scrolling back to her last messages in our group chat. It made me wonder how easily things could disappear… and if maybe I was wasting time with the things unsaid.
The next day, Akio finally broke his silence.
Sayuri had been waiting, heart pinned on his every move. And in front of the classroom windows, as the golden light of evening fell across his face, Akio spoke.
"I don't want to lie," he said quietly, scratching his neck. "You're… special, Sayuri. You've always been there for me. But right now… I'm not ready for this. Not the way you are."
Sayuri's lips trembled. She tried to smile, tried to make it look like she could handle it. But the crack in her voice betrayed her. "It's okay. I… I just had to say it."
She walked away, and for a moment, I saw her wipe her eyes. Akio stared after her, guilt written in every line of his face.
And I? I wasn't sure if I was sad for her… or scared. Because if even her courage ended in heartbreak, what chance did I have with my silence?
That evening, the hallways were almost empty. Just me, gathering my books, and Peryn, leaning against the doorframe like he always belonged there.
"You look… off," he said, frowning.
I wanted to laugh. "Everyone's off today. Hana leaving, Sayuri crying, Akio brooding… it's like some drama episode."
"And you?" he asked. His voice softened, lower, like he actually wanted the real answer.
I froze. My hair fell forward, loose again, and when I brushed it back, I caught him staring—eyes lingering just a second too long.
"I'm fine," I lied.
He didn't push, but his gaze held mine, heavy, grounding. "If you say so." Then, almost as an afterthought, he added, "Don't disappear on me too, Luna. I'd hate that."
The words landed sharper than he probably meant. My chest tightened, and I nodded quickly, before my face gave me away.
Because for the first time, I realized—maybe he already knew. Maybe he saw more than I ever dared to show.
And maybe, just maybe, that was scarier than silence.