The next day at school, he wasn’t there.

Not in the morning, not during lunch, not even after classes. Students whispered about a pipe bursting on the second floor, maybe someone flushed their "Rubber", Lily laughed along with them, but inside, something gnawed at her.

Where had he gone?

And why did it feel like the story was only just beginning?

The janitor was there.

Of course, he was—where else would he be?

But this time, something was different.

He was hunched over the sink, his broad back turned to her, sleeves rolled up to his elbows as he wiped down the chipped porcelain with slow, practiced movements. The smell of cleaning solution lingered faintly in the air, mixing with the distant hum of flickering hallway lights, a raelly big wrench kept beside him, almost seemed like he was clearing a crime scene.

He turned slightly at the sound of her footsteps.

Their eyes met—just for a moment—but it was enough.

Her stomach flipped.

There was nothing casual about his gaze. It wasn’t like the quick, distracted glances she was used to from her classmates, the kind that lasted a breath and then disappeared. His gaze lingered—steady, quiet, searching. Like he wasn’t just looking at her, but through her, reading all the messy, unspoken things she tried so hard to keep hidden.

Something about it made her feel bare. Like she wasn’t in her school uniform anymore, wasn’t Lily the quiet girl from 2-B, but something rawer. Realer.