Results day came with rain. The school hallway smelled faintly of damp paper and nerves.
Students clustered near the noticeboard, voices tight and overlapping. Some laughed too loudly. Others stood very still, staring at the wall like it might soften the impact.
Elian held the envelope in his hands without opening it. Juni stood beside him, fingers curled into the strap of his bag.
"…Do you want to wait?" Juni asked quietly.
Elian shook his head. "No," he said. "I don't want it hanging over us."
They stepped aside, away from the crowd. Elian opened the envelope carefully. He scanned the page once. Then again. His expression didn't change—but something subtle shifted behind his eyes.
"…I did well," he said slowly. "Really well."
Juni smiled immediately. "That's amazing."
Elian hesitated. "…But not perfectly," he added. "Physics was lower than I expected." The words tasted strange—like a confession that shouldn't matter, but did.
Juni studied him. "How do you feel?" he asked.
Elian considered the question. "…Relieved," he admitted. "And a little sad. And… still myself."
Juni smiled softly. "That sounds healthy."
Elian laughed quietly. "I think you're right."
Juni's envelope felt heavier. He opened it more slowly, heart thudding. His eyes skimmed the page. Then stopped.
"…I passed," he said.
The word came out small—but real. Elian's breath left him in a rush.
"That's more than passed," Elian said, peering closer. "You did well."
Juni blinked. "…I did?"
Elian nodded. "You did."
Something loosened in Juni's chest—something he hadn't realized he'd been bracing for.
Nearby, a student cried openly. Another cheered. Someone crumpled their paper in frustration. The world reacted loudly. Juni and Elian didn't. They stood there, letting the moment settle.
As they walked out into the rain, Juni tucked the paper carefully into his bag. "…I thought I'd feel judged," he said. "By the numbers."
Elian shook his head. "They don't get to judge us," he said. "They just… describe one moment."
Juni nodded. "…I like that."
At the bus stop, rain tapping steadily against the shelter, Juni leaned closer to Elian. "…No matter what comes next," he said, "this doesn't undo anything, right?"
Elian smiled. "No," he said. "It doesn't."
The bus arrived. They boarded together.
Results day passed. The numbers stayed on paper.
And who they were—together, still becoming—remained untouched.