The whispers began quietly.
They always do.
It started with glances in the hallway — fleeting, uncertain, yet sharp enough to slice through comfort. Then came the murmurs during lunch breaks, the subtle tilt of a head, the laughter that stopped too soon when either of them walked by.
By the third month of their first semester, Miyako Takahashi and Aoi Nakamura had become something of a mystery on campus.
The perfect princess and the invisible girl.
Always together.
Always just a little too close.
---
Aoi noticed it first.
It was a Thursday morning, sunlight spilling through the classroom windows. She entered the room, and as she passed a group of girls near the back, she caught fragments of a hushed conversation.
"…she's always with her lately."
"…they even walk home together…"
"…maybe it's just pity?"
She pretended not to hear. She sat down, opened her notebook, and focused on the words on the page that blurred under her gaze. Her hands trembled slightly.
When Miyako arrived a few minutes later, bright and composed as ever, Aoi forced herself to smile.
"Good morning."
Miyako smiled back. "Morning, Aoi."
Her voice was soft, genuine — the kind that made everything else fade.
And for a moment, Aoi forgot the whispers.
But deep down, a seed of unease had been planted.
---
After class, Miyako noticed her silence.
"You're quieter than usual today," she said, falling into step beside her as they walked toward the courtyard.
Aoi shook her head quickly. "I'm just tired, that's all."
Miyako tilted her head. "You're not a good liar, you know."
"I'm not lying," Aoi muttered, but her voice was small, fragile.
Miyako stopped walking. "Aoi."
There was something in the way she said her name — not demanding, but filled with such quiet care that Aoi couldn't ignore it.
Slowly, she turned. "People are talking," she whispered.
Miyako blinked. "About… us?"
Aoi nodded, eyes downcast. "They say it's strange. That you shouldn't be hanging around someone like me."
For a long moment, Miyako didn't respond. Then she sighed softly, stepping closer.
"I don't care what they say."
"But—"
"Aoi." Miyako's tone was gentle but firm. "I choose who I spend my time with. And I chose you. Isn't that enough?"
Aoi's throat tightened. She wanted to believe those words. She wanted to cling to them like warmth in winter. But a quiet voice in her heart whispered that the world was cruel — and not even Miyako's kindness could change that.
Still, she nodded, forcing a small smile. "Yeah… it's enough."
It wasn't.
Not yet.
---
That weekend, they met at the city's art museum — Miyako's idea. The building was nearly empty, the echo of their footsteps soft against marble floors.
They wandered through the galleries, stopping occasionally to admire a painting or make small, teasing remarks about the modern art pieces that neither of them understood.
At one point, they stood before a large oil painting — two women sitting under a blooming tree, their hands just barely touching.
Miyako tilted her head. "It's beautiful."
Aoi nodded, her gaze lingering on the soft way the artist had painted their fingers — hesitant, tender.
"It feels… lonely," Aoi murmured.
"Lonely?"
"Like they want to hold hands, but they're afraid to."
Miyako turned to her, a faint, wistful smile touching her lips. "You see more than most people do."
Aoi blushed, looking away. "I just… feel things, I guess."
"I like that about you," Miyako said softly.
The words landed like a heartbeat — quiet but impossible to ignore.
Aoi's chest tightened. "You shouldn't say things like that," she said, barely above a whisper.
"Why not?"
"Because…" Her voice faltered. "Because I don't know what it means to me yet."
Miyako's smile faded, but not from regret. Instead, it was replaced by something gentler — understanding.
"Then… we'll find out together," she said.
And without thinking, without meaning to, she reached out — her fingers brushing against Aoi's hand.
Just a touch. Barely there.
But to both of them, it felt like the world had stopped spinning.
The warmth of Miyako's skin seeped into Aoi's palm, and her breath hitched. She didn't pull away. Couldn't.
The sound of distant footsteps broke the spell. Miyako quickly withdrew her hand, cheeks flushed.
"Sorry," she murmured. "That was—"
"No," Aoi said quickly. "Don't be."
And she smiled — small, hesitant, but real.
---
The following days passed in a blur of emotions they didn't fully understand.
Miyako found herself replaying that brief moment in her mind — the warmth of Aoi's skin, the way her fingers trembled slightly, the look in her eyes when she'd said Don't be.
Aoi, meanwhile, battled a growing storm inside her. Every time she saw Miyako, her heart fluttered uncontrollably. She told herself it was just friendship. Gratitude. Admiration. Anything but what it truly was.
Because the truth terrified her.
---
One evening, they stayed late in the library, studying for an upcoming exam. The campus was quiet, the only sound the rustle of pages and the occasional creak of the old wooden chairs.
Aoi yawned softly. "We've been at this for three hours."
Miyako smiled. "You're the one who said we needed to catch up."
"I didn't think you'd take it as a challenge."
Miyako chuckled, closing her book. "Maybe I just like spending time with you."
Aoi froze.
The words hung in the air like a confession disguised as casual talk.
Miyako blinked, realizing what she'd said. "I mean—study time! I like study time with you."
Aoi laughed softly, shaking her head. "You're terrible at pretending."
Miyako laughed too, the sound filling the quiet space between them. Then, silence returned — not awkward, but thick with something neither could name.
Aoi looked up. "Miyako…"
"Hm?"
"What if people don't understand us?"
Miyako's expression softened. "Then let them misunderstand. I understand you."
It wasn't a declaration. It wasn't even meant to be romantic. But somehow, it was more intimate than either of them could bear.
Aoi felt tears sting her eyes — not from sadness, but from the ache of being seen. Truly seen.
And in that fragile moment, she realized that she didn't want this to end — not tomorrow, not next year, not ever.
---
Outside, night had fallen, and the world beyond the glass windows was a blur of city lights.
Miyako stood, stretching, and then held out her hand to Aoi.
"Come on," she said softly. "I'll walk you home."
Aoi hesitated only a moment before taking it.
Their fingers intertwined naturally, without thought, without shame.
No one was there to see — but even if someone had been, neither of them would have cared.
The world could whisper all it wanted.
For now, they had each other.
And that was enough.
---