The classroom felt softer in autumn. The windows were still cracked open for air, but the breeze now carried crispness instead of heat. Outside, trees rustled in shades of copper and gold, and the light had turned a gentler kind of bright.
Moore sat in his usual seat. Same corner. Same desk by the window.
But today, something was different.
Not outside. Not in the air. Inside him.
He wasn't lost in the trees. Not today.
When a boy slid into the seat next to him—a tall one with messy hair and a sketchbook always half-visible in his bag—Moore looked up. Their eyes met.
"Hey," the boy said, surprised Moore had looked at all.
Moore nodded. A simple thing. But not nothing.
"You draw, right?" Moore asked, voice low.
The boy blinked. Then nodded, almost too fast. "Uh—yeah. Just stuff. Mostly characters. Cartoons, sometimes."
"That's cool."
A pause.
A long one.
Then the boy smiled—genuine, if uncertain. "Thanks."
He didn't press for more. Didn't try to stretch the moment past what it was. But the faint twitch of surprise in his expression made it clear: Moore had spoken. Moore had noticed him.
And maybe that was enough.
Moore turned his eyes back to the window. The leaves danced. The breeze stirred. And behind the glass, his reflection didn't feel quite so far away.
---
The cafeteria was loud, as usual. Forks clattered against plastic trays, chairs scraped the floor, and students floated between tables like schools of fish—tight, fast-moving, hard to follow.
Moore stood near the entrance with his lunch tray balanced in his hands. He wasn't sure why he paused. Maybe it was the noise. Maybe the lighting. Maybe—
His eyes landed on a familiar shape.
Ronell.
She sat two tables down from where she usually sat when she was with him. A different spot, angled toward the windows, surrounded by a loose circle of friends. Their voices didn't quite reach him over the din, but the way she laughed—gently, easily—told him enough.
She looked... content.
At ease in their rhythm. Smiling without effort. Her bangs were clipped back today, and sunlight caught the strands in a way that almost looked golden.
Moore blinked.
He hadn't seen her like that in a while.
And then—he noticed him.
That guy. The one from the lake. The juice bar. The festival. Always hovering just outside the circle.
Today, he wasn't outside it.
He was walking behind their table, tray in hand, laughing at something one of the girls said. And just before he sat down beside Ronell, he reached out and rested his arm around her chair—casual, confident, like it was second nature.
Moore's fingers tightened around his tray.
He didn't know why it sat in his chest the way it did. That subtle twist. That flicker of something between curiosity and discomfort.
He didn't linger.
Instead, he turned. Quietly. Slipped through the doors again and made his way out toward the courtyard behind the school.
---
There, in the stillness, he found a spot beneath a tree whose leaves had already begun to turn. A low breeze stirred fallen petals across the pavement, brushing them against his shoes like whispers.
He sat down on the bench, lunch tray untouched beside him.
He didn't feel hungry.
Not really.
He tilted his head back, letting the weak sun settle across his face.
He didn't mind Ronell making friends. That wasn't the issue.
So what was it?
Was it the way the guy looked at her?
The way she let herself be looked at?
Or maybe... it was the fact that Moore wasn't sure what he was to her anymore.
He didn't know how to feel about that.
The rustling leaves didn't offer an answer.
But at least, out here, they didn't expect one.
---
The streets were quieter without her beside him.
Leaves scraped across the pavement, carried by the faintest wind. School had let out only fifteen minutes ago, but already the sky was beginning to dim — that golden, smoky hue unique to autumn afternoons.
Moore's footsteps echoed just a little too sharply. He didn't wear headphones. He didn't pull out his phone. He just… walked.
Usually, Ronell would catch up. Her voice would fill the space beside him — light, warm, unobtrusive.But today? He'd left before she could.
Maybe she wouldn't notice. Maybe she'd be too busy laughing with the boy who walked beside her at lunch. The one who stood just a little too close.
His hands tightened inside his sleeves.
The ache wasn't new, but it was sharper now. Unspoken, unformed.
Jealousy? No—resentment? Or maybe... just displacement. Like a chair no longer needed at the table.
He rounded the familiar corner toward home, but that's when he saw it again.
Perched on the low brick wall just ahead — the black cat.
Same yellow eyes. Same unreadable gaze.
Its tail curled like a question mark. Watching.
For a moment, Moore just stood there, arms slack at his sides.
"...You again," he murmured.
And still it watched.
Then — with an elegant flick of its tail — it turned and slipped through a gap in the hedges.
Moore hesitated.
But something pulled at him — not like a tug, more like the echo of one. A pull inward.He stepped off the sidewalk, past the hedges, and followed.
---
The path was narrow, half-lost beneath fallen leaves. Trees arched overhead, their bare arms lacing like ribs over a sleeping body. The further he walked, the quieter it got — until the only sound left was the crunch of his own steps and the distant rhythm of his breath.
Then suddenly — the trees opened.
A clearing, soft and hushed like something forgotten.
At its heart stood an overgrown shrine — small, stone, covered in moss that glowed green in the dimming light. Ivy curled around its base, trailing up the wooden torii gate behind it. The air held that damp, metallic scent of earth after rain, even though the sky had been clear all day.
The cat was already there, sitting at the foot of the steps. Still. Waiting.
Moore approached slowly, each step quieter than the last. He didn't know why his heart was racing.
The shrine wasn't grand — no bells or bright paint. Just a single offering box, a crumbling pillar, and worn carvings faded with time.
But there was something about it. Something sacred.Something... watched.
He stepped closer, hand brushing the stone.
And then he saw it.
Behind the shrine, carved faintly into the stone — barely noticeable under the moss — were two figures.
A girl and a boy. Standing side by side. Their hands not quite touching.
Moore stared at it for a long time.
He didn't know why, but his chest tightened. The air felt heavier now — not suffocating, just... reverent.
The cat had moved again, now sitting beneath a nearby tree, half in shadow. Its eyes didn't blink. Just fixed on him. As if saying: you were meant to see this.
He sat down beside the shrine, knees drawn in, arms resting across them. No words left. Not even for himself.
Just breath, and silence, and the soft rustle of leaves overhead.
---
The sun had dipped low by the time he finally rose again.
The cat was gone.
But the memory lingered — the moss, the stone, the twin figures etched in silence.
He didn't tell Ronell where he'd gone that day.
But that night, as he lay in bed and watched shadows shift across the ceiling, his fingers itched with a strange need.To draw.To carve.To remember.
Even if he didn't understand what, or why.