A warm April breeze sweeps through the courtyard, gently lifting Miaro's long blue blouse. Her footsteps echo like a soft drumbeat on the polished ground — steady, almost solemn. The large gates of the high school open before her once again, like a theater stage: Miaro, a calm silhouette, eyes tired and fixed on the ground. And yet, in the eyes of the other students, she remains that champion figure — unshakable, untouchable.
— "You got this, Miaro!" someone calls.
— "You're going to crush it, right? We're counting on you!"
She responds with a soft, mechanical smile and a small, precise, graceful wave of her hand. There's a flicker in her eyes — faint, almost imperceptible — of gratitude… but already, her thoughts are sinking back into the silent storm within her mind.
In a corner of the courtyard, Faneva and Rajo, still bickering about the competition, notice her.
— "I never thought your team would make it this far," says Faneva mockingly.
— "Luck's on our side," Miaro replies kindly.
— "This time, your opponent is me. Don't think you'll beat me that easily."
— "Then I'll crush you right after," Tojo adds, teasing Faneva.
Miaro answers only with a polite, almost distracted smile. Then she walks away without lingering.
Yes, we're talking about the grand finale of the Intellect XJ — that prestigious inter-high school competition where brainpower comes with pressure. Miaro and her small team breeze through the stages without flinching. Not surprising, really. It's Miaro, after all.
And since we all know how that tune goes, no need for an entire chapter about it.
Sorry. xD
That day, the team meets once again in the library — their makeshift HQ — to study unforgiving mathematics. Miaro tackles the senior year science curriculum. Kanto and Tsiaro are taking on the junior level. The "little ones," Haintso and Tojo, are reviewing sophomore-level basics. Each one has their own battle.
In the near-religious silence of the library, pages turn at uneven intervals. A pencil scratches paper. A watch ticks.
The team is there, focused, scattered among the shelves, rickety chairs, and cluttered tables. Each in their own way. Each in their own bubble.
Kanto frowns. Tsiaro mutters under his breath (though he doesn't have a beard). Tojo is half-asleep, staring blankly at an equation he didn't get. Haintso, meanwhile, has been re-reading the same line for five minutes. Not because he doesn't understand —
But because he's watching.
Miaro.
Something's wrong.
She sits upright, perfectly composed. But there's something off. Something in her gaze. A weariness that goes beyond lack of sleep. An absence behind the focus.
She scribbles in her notebook with surgical precision, as if solving the exercise might also solve what she's feeling. Except… she's not feeling anything. Or maybe too much all at once.
Her movements are too smooth, too calm.
She doesn't speak.
She hasn't smiled since she walked in.
Haintso gently puts down his pen. He stretches. Watches her again.
Then he stands up.
— "Alright… guys. I already hate matrices and probabilities enough as it is…"
He moves toward the center of the table.
— "… so I'm calling for a break. A real break. Not five minutes, not fifteen. A break that actually helps."
Kanto looks at him, puzzled.
— "But the finals are in a week…"
— "Exactly! Haintso replies with a wink. We're solid. We're ready. We've been working like maniacs. And if we keep this up, we'll all be burnt out before we even get on stage."
He turns to Miaro.
— "Don't you want to breathe a little? Do something dumb? Take a walk? Eat something greasy? I don't know… Just be human for two hours."
(Since the next class doesn't start until 1 p.m.)
Miaro slowly looks up. Her eyes meet Haintso's. And for the first time since morning… something cracks.
Not a smile. Not yet.
But a breath of air.
A tiny fracture in her porcelain mask.
Tsiaro snaps his fingers.
— I'm in. I need some sun.
Tojo suddenly perks up.
— Where are we going?
Haintso looks at them.
— Guys, the Anosy park is always open for lazy students like us.
The pavement warms gently under their steps. The group moves forward, relaxed, in a lighthearted mood that stands in sharp contrast to their usual pressure. The city hums around them, and the distant honking of cars feels like a vacation melody.
There are seven of them now, with three extra students Haintso randomly scooped up from the library, scattered across the sidewalk like a small, poorly coordinated school of fish. Haintso stands at the center of the group, making everyone laugh with a very questionable impression of a history teacher. Even Tojo is cracking up, and Kanto follows along with his usual sarcastic remarks.
Miaro walks slightly behind. Her eyes don't leave Haintso. Something hits her.
"I didn't know Haintso could… socialize. There he is, in the center, radiant, and everyone's listening to him. For a moment, I feel invisible. And it's… strange. Extraordinary. Fascinating.
And somehow, soothing.
My God. I'm in love with this boy. I love him. Since the very first day, he's inspired me. He draws me in. And it scares me. Me — the perfect girl, the one everyone expects so much from… I'm scared he won't love me back."
She looks away, her heart tight, a subtle smile floating somewhere between unease and tenderness.
They're sitting on the still-fresh grass, tucked away in a quiet corner of the park. Cards are flying from hand to hand, laughter bursts all around. Tojo stands up to explain the rules, a bit too seriously.
— "Alright. Quick recap of the rules of the game President", he begins, holding up his deck like some sacred relic.
— "The President starts. They play one or more cards of the same number."
— "The next player has to play something higher. Otherwise, they pass."
— "The first to empty their hand becomes President. The last… well, that's the Asshole."
— "Crystal clear", says Kanto.
— "Oh, and I forgot", Tojo adds. "In the next round, the President can swap a card of their choice with one from the Asshole."
Haintso stretches, a mischievous smile tugging at his lips.
— "What if we add a rule? The Asshole has to dance. To a song chosen by the President."
— "I love it", says Tsiaro, rubbing her hands together.
— "I wanna see Miaro dance!" she adds.
— "Pff, the rich stepping on the poor. It's the people's fault they're poor, right? Miaro retorts ironically."
— "Well, if God has to put a jerk in charge, I'd like it to be me, laughs Tsiaro."
— "Come on, play! shout the others."
The games keep rolling. They win, they lose. Miaro laughs out loud when Tojo wiggles awkwardly to Aya Nakamura, uncomfortable but a good sport.
And then, Tsiaro's prayers are answered by the author.
It's Miaro's turn.
She stands in the middle of the others, in the circle of grass formed by the group, as LJO's song begins:
"Mba miboaka hely oh. Mba mipoera hely oh. Mandany vola hely oh. Mankafia la vie."
("Go out a bit. Show off a bit. Spend some money. Enjoy life.")
And you'd swear she was possessed…
By Athena, or maybe Aphrodite…
Or simply by the teenager she's always wished she could be.
Her smile is real.
Her movements, carefree, need no precision — they already know exactly how to say "I'm okay."
She sways, she laughs, she dances.
Her body is finally breathing to its own rhythm.
She forgets why she was upset.
She breathes.
The sun is high now.
Some have gone off to walk around the lake. Others are taking selfies. Miaro stays seated on a makeshift bench. She pulls out the two sandwiches she bought earlier before arriving at the park, unfolding them slowly.
Haintso approaches, hands in his pockets. Miaro immediately offers him one of the fast-food, sandwiches.
— Here's your share.
But Miaro's gesture doesn't seem to please Haintso. And we get it. Throughout the entire food-related history of this story so far, it's always Miaro who pays. And Haintso is someone who takes great pride in food, especially when it comes to being treated. We won't dig deeper into why.
— "Please, Miaro, you don't have to bring me snacks every time..."
— "Please, it's the least I can do to thank you." Miaro insists.
— "Thank me... for what?"
She blushes.
— "For everything."
Haintso sighs. He forces a smile. He takes the sandwich reluctantly, not wanting to ruin the mood he just helped save.
— "I'm glad my efforts helped bring back your elegance." Miaro freezes.
— "So it was that obvious?"
— "I don't know. I just tend to see people's depth. And I saw that things weren't going too well." She nods slowly. Then sighs.
— "Haintso, I'm tired of being shot down by glances and expectations all the time. I just want to... I don't know, dye my hair, get piercings, tattoo myself... say fucking curse words whenever I feel like it... skip out whenever I want to stay home and play video games. Not give a damn if my mom says, "Miaro, what's gotten into you?" Or if my dad says, "You're a disgrace of a daughter.""
Haintso laughs.
— "Okay, maybe I'm exaggerating a bit but... Haintso, I just want people to leave me the hell alone. You get me, don't you? … How do you do it? You seem so... free. So yourself."
He stays silent. A shadow crosses his eyes.
Then he straightens up, gently.
— "Want to be a rebel with me?"
— "...Excuse me?"
She widens her eyes.
— "This afternoon? But... what are we going to say tomorrow?"
— "Who cares. We'll improvise. The excuse is for tomorrow. Right now, we live."
Miaro hesitates. Her heart is racing.
— "I'm scared."
— "Me too."
She laughs. Light, unburdened.
— "You're really crazy."
— "I know."
Miaro and Haintso take off their lab coats. Freed from the school setting, they wander the streets side by side, breathing in the city's gentle air. Miaro talks, and talks some more. She gets carried away, jumping from one topic to another, her eyes sparkling.
— You know I love books, right? The French Institute has an incredible collection. And for three days, they're hosting an event about art… (She laughs). I can't believe I'm skipping class for this…
Haintso smiles, attentive. He doesn't say much, but he listens to every word. Fascinated by Miaro's energy.
— Are you sure there's no entrance fee for this kind of event?
— Don't worry! Even when it's free, few people are interested. It's sad. But I could teach you color theory, if you want.
— Oh right. You still haven't kept that promise.
— Then I'll keep it today.
They smile at each other. They walk. Time seems to float.
They enter. The calm of the place contrasts with the hustle and bustle of the street. They wander among the paintings. Miaro comments, decodes, marvels. Haintso listens, captivated, as if every word she speaks paints a new world, bringing meaning and depth to the scribbles. At some point, they drift apart to admire the artworks on their own.
Then, when Haintso finds her again, she's standing still in front of a canvas.
He whispers from behind her:
— "This painting is beautiful."
— (surprised, dazed) "… yes."
— "An iris flower, alone, in the center of a field. It lights up everything around it. The artist says that this flower is their world. The light is admiration. The iris, life. And all of it… is love."
Miaro blushes. She stammers.
— "You… you already understood all of that?"
— (whispering in her ear) "That's because I had a very good teacher."
She looks away, flustered.
— "Maybe we should go look at something else?"
They climb the stairs, Miaro's footsteps echoing like the racing beats of her heart. A new warmth settles inside her. Embarrassed, but happy.
They try out video games, laughing like children. The controllers, the headsets, the dance table. The outside world no longer exists.
On the way back, a sudden summer last rain catches them off guard. Soaked, they run, looking for shelter—but the street is almost empty. Eventually, Miaro finds a spot and rushes toward it. But Haintso decides to stay out in the rain a little longer, spinning and laughing like a madman. Thankfully, no one is around. It's already getting quite dark anyway.
— "Haaaintso! What are you doing? You're going to get sick!"
He laughs with all his might, as if set free. He murmurs into the rain:
— "So be it. Even if I were to die today…"
Finally, he walks over to Miaro. Haintso's soaked clothes outline every line of his body like a living sketch. He's slender—now standing at one meter seventy-one—extremely thin, almost fragile. No broad shoulders to protect her, no defined muscles, and yet… there is something magnetic about his silhouette, something thrilling.
His veins draw paths along his skin. His face, uniquely delicate, seems sculpted from uncertain lines—almost fragile—but they come together with an odd elegance. His lips, full and soft, contrast with his angular face. Even that large, almost disproportionate nose brings an unexpected balance to the whole.
His veins traced paths across his skin. His face, unusually delicate, looked as if it had been sculpted from hesitant lines—almost fragile—yet they came together with a strange elegance. His lips, full and soft, stood in stark contrast to his angular features. Even that nose—large, almost disproportionate—somehow brought an unexpected harmony to it all.
Miaro's cheeks burned at the sight of him, and she could no longer hide her racing heartbeat. She stared at him. Her desires had taken over.
And then, his eyes—small, dark—suddenly made sense for the first time. They sparkled. They lived. And they finally matched the smile he wore: sincere, radiant, with a raw, magnetic charm.
To Miaro, he had never been so... alluring. In that precise moment, Haintso was irresistible. Magnetic. Charismatic in his quiet way. He was beautiful. Truly beautiful. A beauty without rules, without embellishment. A kind of beauty that didn't need to follow trends.
— "What were you whispering earlier in the rain?" she asked, unsettled.
Haintso slowly lifted his eyes toward Miaro, and a shiver ran down his spine. The rain had painted a second translucent skin over her, revealing without undressing, highlighting without insisting. He briefly looked away, almost embarrassed to witness such beauty… but he returned to her, irresistibly drawn.
Miaro stood there, slender and graceful, as if sculpted from the very movement of the rain. Her body, naturally harmonious, evoked a kind of grace that didn't seek to seduce. In Madagascar, she could walk any runway. And yet, in that moment, she wasn't playing any role. She was simply herself—alive, free, real.
Haintso holds his breath. It's not just her silhouette he sees.
He also sees the emotion shining through her big eyes, that quiet light she herself seems unaware of.
He's never seen anything so beautiful.
— "Nothing. I'm just... happy. Truly happy."
— "…Me too," Miaro whispers in return.
A soft silence settles between them, then she teases, playfully:
— "So this is your routine when you skip class? Am I your... your nth victim?"
They laugh.
Then, Haintso grows more serious.
— "Kiss me."
— "W-what?"
— "The more I search through my mind, the more I truly can't understand why… I don't even understand why I cross your thoughts... You are the most wonderful thing my eyes have ever seen... and yet, no matter how hard I try to imagine us together, I always find there's a world — even a universe — between us."
A sudden silence falls between them.
Then, at last, Miaro kisses him.
She, once drawn to the lines of Haintso's body, can no longer stop herself from touching him.
Her fingers trace along his abdomen and narrow chest. Then they slide up to his shoulder, finally wrapping around his slender arm.
Haintso, unable to resist Miaro's innocent allure, lets one hand rest on her thigh, while the other flinches against her hip.
He begins to reach toward her backside… but suddenly pulls away, startled — a reflex. He stops everything.
Miaro, completely intoxicated by emotion and sensation, gazes at him, entranced.
— "... la la la la, la la la la... c'est ça l'amour…" she hums softly.
Haintso takes Miaro in his arms. He holds her tightly, as if she were the most precious thing he had ever had.
His eyes, still completely dazed, don't know whether he's dreaming… or if this is truly real….
But this…
Is…
Real.
The rain is still drumming softly outside. Miaro gently pushes Haintso inside her home.
— "Come on, get in. You'll definitely catch a cold if you still stay out soaked like that."
Haintso glances nervously into the house.
— "What if your father comes home by chance?"
Miaro flashes him a mischievous, almost provocative smile.
— "You'll tell him you're my boyfriend. Not that hard, is it?"
Haintso blushes and takes a step back.
— "Miaro, I'm scared. And… I can't wear your clothes. It's awkward. A little... weird, you know?"
— "A bit pervy, yeah, I get it," Miaro replies teasingly.
She disappears into one of the rooms and returns shortly after, already changed. She's wearing a long, light jacket that falls gracefully over her exposed thighs.
She hands Haintso a small stack of dry clothes.
— "Go change. A shower's just to the left of the kitchen."
Haintso obeys. When he comes back, he looks surprised, and Miaro too.
— "They fit... perfectly."
— "They were my brother's."
Haintso pauses.
— "You had a brother?"
— "Well… yeah."
She softly diverts the topic.
— "Leave your wet clothes here, I'll dry them. I'll bring them back tomorrow. It's almost 7pm… if you linger, you'll miss the last buses."
— "But my money's in my bag…"
Miaro, as if she anticipated this, hands him a 5000-ariary bill.
— "That's too much… The bus barely costs—"
— "Shhh. Am I not allowed to spoil my boyfriend a little?"
Silence settles. Their eyes meet.
There's something timid, unspoken, immense between them.
They slowly lean in until their lips touch.
A brief kiss, fragile but full of promise.
Haintso finally pulls away. He says nothing more, but his heart is pounding harder than he ever thought possible.