as if nothing had happened.

But even I couldn’t lie that much to myself.

I slid into my seat slowly.

The classroom looked the same.

Students greeting each other.

Friends laughing.

Whispers spreading about last night’s confession — half-exaggerated, half-forgotten already.

Life had moved on faster than I expected.

As I rested my head on my arms, my eyes drifted across the room.

And then I saw her.

Aika.

She stood with her friends… and beside Giyu.

They were talking. Smiling.

Not forced.

Not broken.

Just… normal.

Our eyes met for a brief moment.

She didn’t look at me with anger.

Or pity.

Or blame.

Instead, there was something else — something unspoken.

A quiet understanding that didn’t need words.

Maybe there was nothing left for us to talk about.

And somehow… that made my chest feel lighter.

“Huh,” I thought.

“That went better than I imagined.”

Maybe we really do make small things unbearable in our heads.

Maybe pain grows louder the more we stare at it.

A moment later, Aira entered the class and took her seat like always.

Then she looked at me.

Her eyes were calm — but empty.

No anger.

No warmth.

No accusation.

And strangely… I wished there was.

Anger would have been easier to face.

The lectures passed without meaning.

Time moved forward like it always did — indifferent and steady.

Lunch break arrived.

I headed toward the canteen.

That’s when I noticed Miyamura.

He was watching me from a distance — pretending not to.

Awkward.

Hesitant.

Maybe embarrassed.

Maybe unsure.

For once, I wasn’t being chased.

And while the silence was peaceful…

it didn’t feel right.

So I turned away and walked toward the playground instead.

That’s where I saw her.

Aira stood by the railing, leaning against it casually.

She wasn’t looking at me.

She was watching the children playing on the field — laughing, running, falling, getting back up.

I tried to walk past her quietly.

But she spoke.

“Children really are innocent little angels.”

Her voice was soft. Thoughtful.

There was no one else around.

So I knew she was talking to me.

I glanced at the children too.

“Yes… I guess they are.”

That was something even I wouldn’t argue with. Or maybe — after last night — I simply didn’t have the energy to fight anymore.

Aira turned to me.

“Tell me, Arisu… why did you do that last night?”

The question caught me off guard. But what stunned me more was her expression.

She wasn’t angry.

She was worried.

I opened my mouth — ready to give my usual cold answer — but nothing came out.

She spoke again, her voice quiet but steady.

“Why don’t you see how much of life you’re losing by rejecting love?”

I stayed silent.

“You reject love,” she continued, “and at the same time, you reject life. You avoid friendship. You neglect the beauty of simply living.”

She looked at me — really looked at me. Her eyes weren’t judging. They were searching.

“Love and life coexist,” she said softly. “If you deny one… the other can never truly exist. It can never be understood.”

Her words settled heavy in my chest.

“Arisu,” she said, her voice lowering, “you make me worry sometimes. You act so mature — but those choices are just… childish in their own way. And without realizing it… you make the people around you worry too.”

She lifted her hand and placed it against my cheek.

Warm. Gentle. Unavoidable.

Her voice dropped — soft, but commanding, just like that night.

“You can run from the world,” she whispered, “but you can’t run from me.”

Her eyes flicked briefly to the side.

Miyamura.

Then she stepped away, leaving me alone with words I couldn’t understand — and couldn’t ignore.

I stood there, frozen, replaying them over and over.

---

Miyamura finally stepped out from where he’d been hiding.

He hesitated. Then spoke.

“Arisu… I’m sorry about last night.”

He didn’t look at me at first.

“I know it might’ve hurt. I shouldn’t have done that. And I don’t want things to stay like this.”

He bowed his head slightly.

“So… punch me back if you want.”

Silence stretched between us. The air moved — heavy with everything unsaid.

Then I spoke, my voice flat as always.

“Well… you did hit me pretty hard. I don’t think you’d survive a punch from me.”

He looked up — and smiled faintly.

“That’s fine.”

So I punched him.

“Ow—!” he staggered back. “Hey! I thought you said—” “I said you wouldn’t stand it,” I replied. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t punch you.”

For a second, he stared at me.

Then he laughed.

And for a moment — so did I.

Maybe not fully. But enough.

“That was my first time punching someone,” he said proudly. “It felt good.”

“I’m not sure that’s something to brag about.”

“I didn’t mean hitting you,” he said quickly. “I mean— you know— the experience—”

He kept talking as we walked.

And strangely…

I didn’t tell him to shut up.

Maybe things were starting to change. Not the way I planned. Not the way I understood.

But…

I didn’t really mind it.

---