I thought after the stairwell, things would go back to normal.
They didn't.
Nothing changed exactly—no confessions, no dramatic moments—but something felt different. Like a door had been left slightly open, just enough for cold air to slip in.
Rei didn't talk as much that day.
That was the first thing I noticed.
She still smiled when she passed me in the hallway. Still waved when our classes crossed paths. Still said my name like it mattered. But she didn't push. Didn't linger. Didn't sit too close.
And somehow… that bothered me.
I told myself it shouldn't.
2-B was unusually loud after lunch. Miki was complaining about homework, Haruka correcting her facts, someone else laughing too loudly near the windows. I sat at my desk, pencil hovering above my notebook, not drawing anything.
My eyes drifted to the door before I could stop myself.
Rei didn't pass by.
I frowned at the blank page.
Why was I looking?
I shook my head and finally pressed pencil to paper. The lines came out wrong. Too sharp. Too restless. I erased them, tried again, failed again.
This was stupid.
I shouldn't be distracted by someone from another class. I'd gone years without caring about anyone's presence like this. Years without waiting for footsteps in the hallway.
So why now?
"Aya," Haruka said quietly, nudging my desk. "You've been staring at nothing for five minutes."
"I'm thinking," I muttered.
Miki leaned over instantly. "About who?"
I glared at her. "Mind your own business."
"That is my business," she said cheerfully. "You never think. You draw. This is new."
"I always think."
"No, you overthink," Haruka corrected. "This is different."
I didn't answer.
Because they were right.
I saw Rei again after school.
She was standing near the shoe lockers, talking to a teacher. A female teacher—one I recognized from morning assemblies. Rei listened attentively, nodding, hands folded properly.
She looked… responsible.
That was strange. I'd only seen her relaxed, casual, leaning against benches or windows like the world couldn't rush her.
She noticed me then.
Our eyes met.
She smiled—but not fully. Just a small curve of her lips, like she was holding something back.
My chest tightened.
I looked away first.
Why did I do that?
I slipped my shoes on faster than usual and headed toward the exit. The air outside was cool, the sky pale and dry—no rain today. I should have felt relieved.
I didn't.
Footsteps approached behind me, unhurried.
"Aya."
My name. Again.
I stopped before I realized I was going to.
Rei stood a few steps away, hands in her pockets, posture relaxed but eyes careful.
"You're heading home?" she asked.
I nodded. "Yeah."
"Same direction?"
"…Yeah."
We walked together.
Not close like under the umbrella. Not distant either. Just… side by side.
The silence wasn't uncomfortable. But it wasn't easy.
"I didn't want to make things weird earlier," Rei said suddenly. "After the stairwell."
"They weren't weird," I replied too quickly.
She glanced at me. "You sure?"
I hesitated. "I just… don't understand things well."
Rei slowed her pace to match mine exactly. "You don't have to."
That answer confused me.
"What if I say the wrong thing?" I asked quietly. "Or misunderstand?"
"Then we talk about it," she said. "Eventually."
Eventually.
That word sat strangely in my chest.
"I'm not good with people," I admitted. "I don't know what I'm supposed to feel."
Rei didn't answer right away.
When she did, her voice was softer than usual. "That's okay. Feelings aren't something you're supposed to be good at."
I looked at her then.
She wasn't smiling.
She was sincere.
Something inside me shifted.
When we reached the intersection where we usually separated, I stopped.
"So…," I began, then trailed off.
Rei waited. Patient. Always patient.
"…Thanks," I finished lamely.
"For what?"
"For not pushing."
She smiled this time. A real one. But there was something sad behind it that I didn't understand.
"Anytime," she said.
She waved and turned down her street.
I stood there longer than necessary, watching until she disappeared.
My hand rested over my chest.
It felt… full.
Not happy.
Not sad.
Just full.
I didn't know what that meant.
But for the first time, I wondered if maybe—just maybe—there were things I hadn't learned yet.
And that scared me.
Because a part of me wanted to learn them.
With her.