The alarm buzzed again.

I reached out, blindly hitting the snooze button for the second time.

A small groan escaped my lips as I stared up at the ceiling. The soft morning light leaked through the pale curtains, gently brushing against my face.

Another morning.

Another school day.

Another chance to keep everything exactly the same.

I rolled out of bed with the kind of energy that said, “Let’s just get this over with.” After brushing my teeth and pulling on my uniform, I grabbed my bag and stepped out into the spring air.

Our third and final year of high school had just begun.

The classroom looked exactly the same.

Same peeling paint near the back windows, same stack of dusty textbooks on the shelf, same rows of desks — all lined up like memories that refused to change.

And right across from mine… was hers.

Rina.

She was already seated, twirling a pen between her fingers and humming quietly to herself. Her hair had grown slightly longer over the break. She wore the school uniform with just enough looseness to feel casual, but still neat — like she wasn’t trying too hard to be noticed, but somehow always was.

I walked to my seat quietly and sat down.

She looked up.

“Morning, Junshiro-kun,” she said with a warm smile. “You’re not late for once.”

I gave her the smallest nod, eyes flickering away almost instantly.

“Morning.”

That was it.

That was always it.

Our daily ritual — quiet greetings, soft smiles, and long stretches of silence.

We’d sat opposite each other since our first year. We weren’t close, but we weren’t strangers either. We talked sometimes — about homework, the weather, club schedules — but never anything real.

Maybe it was because I was too shy.

Or maybe… I was just afraid of what would change if I let more slip.

During lunch, I sat on the rooftop with Takumi, my only real friend.

He was loud. Unfiltered. Terrible at whispering.

“So, Rina again, huh?” he said with a grin, stuffing his face with rice. “Still doing the silent soul-mate routine?”

I stayed silent, biting into my sandwich without answering.

“Dude, seriously. You’ve been sitting across from her for what — two years? You like her, right? Why not just confess?”

“It’s not that simple.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Why? You think you’re the background character in some drama? Come on, Jun.”

I looked away, eyes drifting toward the clouds.

I didn’t answer. Because maybe… he wasn’t wrong.

After school, I stayed behind to help the literature club sort through some old books. I wasn’t a full member — just someone who liked the silence the clubroom offered. I wasn’t very good at talking, but I was good at shelving books.

By the time I walked past the student council bulletin board, the hallway was almost empty.

That’s when I heard it.

“I saw Rina with Haruya-senpai yesterday.”

Two girls, standing just around the corner. Their voices were hushed but sharp.

“Seriously? I thought he already graduated.”

“He did, but apparently they met up after cram school. My cousin saw them at the station.”

“Wow. So it’s true, huh? She’s dating an older guy now.”

I kept walking.

Didn’t pause. Didn’t look back.

But the words burned.

Haruya.

He was a third-year when we were in Year 1. Handsome. Confident. Always surrounded by people. He was the kind of guy Rina could talk to — the kind of guy people didn’t forget.

Unlike me.

Back in the classroom, I grabbed my bag slowly. Everyone else had already gone. The light was soft — the golden hour pouring gently through the windows.

I looked up just as Rina walked in.

She paused when she saw me.

“Oh… you’re still here?”

“Yeah. Was helping with the lit club.”

She nodded and walked toward her desk, picking up a notebook she had left behind.

Then silence.

The kind that wasn’t awkward… but wasn’t easy either.

“Hey… can I ask you something?”

I blinked. “What?”

She hesitated.

“Are you okay?”

The question caught me off guard.

No one ever asked that.

Not really.

“I’m fine.”

I lied. Quietly. Calmly.

Like always.

She gave me that same smile. The one that never quite reached her eyes.

“You’re not very good at lying, you know.”

I looked away, heart thudding louder than I wanted it to.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Jun-kun.”

She walked out, footsteps soft against the wooden floor.

That night, I sat at my desk, staring at the blank page in my notebook.

The words wouldn’t come.

Not for a story, not for a message, not for anything. Just silence — the kind that felt heavier than sound.

Finally, I wrote:

> “There are people who are loud even in silence… and people who disappear even when they’re still here.”

I didn’t know which one I was.

Or which one I wanted to be.

All I knew was this:

Something inside me was shifting.

And I didn’t know if I wanted to be seen anymore… or if I was already fading.