The morning light looked sharper than I remembered.
Or maybe three days in bed had just made the world seem harsher by comparison.
The air in the hallways buzzed with the same half-familiar chaos—shoes squeaking against tile, lockers clanging, voices overlapping like badly tuned instruments.
As I crossed the threshold into the classroom, I caught sight of them immediately—
Saana and Monaka, slouched across my usual corner desks, wearing matching grins that spelled trouble in capital letters.
"There she is!" Saana crowed, tossing her pencil in the air like a baton. Loud enough for half the room to hear. "Thought you were gonna die and leave us alone with all these nerds."
Monaka leaned forward, eyes bright with mischief. "We were already planning your memorial! Saana even volunteered to sing."
"Only out of pity," Saana added, hand over her heart. "Terrible pity."
I rolled my eyes and let my bag thump against the desk, the solid sound grounding me in the moment.
"Tragic," I said, deadpan. "Guess I'll have to live just to save everyone's ears."
They cracked up like I'd delivered the punchline of the year—loud, genuine, uncontained.
And for the first time in what felt like forever, the sound didn't sting.
I smiled, small but real.
The teasing was sharp-edged, messy, alive.
It was a reminder that maybe—just maybe—the world hadn't completely moved on without me.
***
By lunch, it didn't take long.
The questions started almost immediately—whispered sideways, half-mocking, half-curious, their energy picking up like static in the air.
"So, Kensi," Saana said, draping herself dramatically across the desk, her bangs flopping over her eyes, "how's it feel having Miss Perfect Transfer Student as your new roomie?"
Monaka wiggled her eyebrows, her voice pitching high in fake horror. "You wake up and she's standing over you with those Perfect eyes yet?"
Laughter rippled across the desks around us—quick, easy.
It should've been easy to laugh with them, too.
But I didn't.
I felt it—the thread tightening between my ribs.
The reminder that not every scar sits on skin.
I glanced casually toward the front of the room, pretending to adjust my sleeve.
Ozaka was there, hunched slightly over her desk, scribbling something in that neat, too-perfect handwriting of hers. Not looking this way. Not listening.
They were waiting for me to join in.
Waiting for me to say something sharp, something wicked, something that would weave me tighter into the easy, thoughtless web of their laughter.
I tucked a lazy smile into the corner of my mouth, like slipping a knife into a sheath.
Leaned forward, elbows on the desk.
Voice just dry enough to land:
"She's efficient," I said. "Polite. Doesn't steal food or hide knives under the pillow. Guess I'll survive."
For half a second, the group went silent.
Then the dam broke—
Laughter exploding around me, sharp and bright and ugly in the corners.
Some slapped the desk, some leaned into each other like it was the funniest thing they'd heard all week.
Even Saana snorted into her drink, wiping her mouth with the back of her sleeve.
I let the noise crash over me like a wave, smiling the way they expected.
I stayed loose. Relaxed. Casual.
But inside?
Inside, I was already filing the moment away.
Locking it in a box marked Dangerous.
Marking the invisible line between me and them.
Another clean cut between the world and myself.
Because surviving wasn't just about breathing anymore.
It was about knowing which parts of you to leave at the door.
And right now, every laugh felt like a map back to who I used to be.
Someone I couldn't afford to be anymore.
They moved on.
I let them.
Laughter spilled across the room in rough-edged waves, washing over desks and backpacks and half-eaten lunches.
Someone threw a paper ball. Someone else ducked, cackling. Saana was already pulling Monaka into some new disaster plan involving cafeteria pudding.
I kept my face relaxed.
My breathing even.
I chuckled at the right moments, shrugged when Saana elbowed me in the side, made my eyes crinkle like it was all nothing.
Inside, I filed the moment away.
Carefully. Neatly.
Another clean cut between the world and myself.
***
Later, I caught sight of her.
Ozaka.
She stood near the teacher's desk, spine straight, movements precise, as she handed over a stack of neatly collated papers.
Not messy. Not rushed.
Every corner perfectly aligned like it mattered somehow.
Nothing urgent.
Nothing dramatic.
Just notes.
The teacher actually smiled at her—this small, real thing I hadn't seen often—and said something that made Ozaka bow slightly.No hesitation. No drama. No hunger for attention.
Then, just as quietly, she turned and slipped back to her seat.
No lingering. No secret glances.
I watched from my desk.
Not openly.
Not obviously.
Just enough.
Enough to notice.
The movement was too normal.
Too quiet.
Too small to be fake.
No theatrics.
No hidden knives tucked behind her back.
I caught myself tapping my pen against the desk—sharp, rhythmic clicks breaking the surface of my thoughts—and forced my hand still.
Maybe...
Maybe she wasn't dangerous.
Maybe she really was just the weirdly competent, painfully formal scholarship girl who didn't know how to exist around chaos yet.
Maybe.
Or maybe that was exactly what she wanted me to think.
I turned my gaze back to my notes, letting my hair fall forward to hide the sharpness of my stare.
The margins blurred for a second before the words came back into focus.
It didn't matter.
It couldn't matter.
I couldn't afford assumptions anymore.
Not pretty ones.
Not hopeful ones.
Not the kind that cracked open the door just wide enough for the world to gut you.
I had learned the hard way—
Trust was just another kind of blindfold.
And blindfolds got you hurt.
I kept my movements loose. My shoulders easy. My laugh stitched into place, ready when Saana nudged me again and asked if I'd heard about the vending machine that supposedly spat out "cursed water bottles."
I played along.
Nodded, teased back, even managed a lazy smile.
But inside?
Inside, I made a mental note.
Carved it deep and sharp, like an oath burned into steel:
Avoid Ozaka.
Stay alert.
Stay alive.
Because the second you started believing the world had softened—
The second you let yourself think the ice beneath your feet was solid—
That was when it cracked.
And this time,
this life,
this fragile second chance I hadn't even meant to get—
I didn't plan on falling through again.
***
Days blurred.
A week.
Then another.
School ticked forward, indifferent.
Announcements crackled overhead.
Chairs scraped.
Lunch conversations swirled into the same recycled noise.
Assignments stacked up.
Tests were handed back with red circles and scribbled margins.
It all kept moving—like a train
me avoiding osaka - living a normal life
But—
I noticed a thing.
I think I did.
I mean, I was avoiding Ozaka.
Yeah, I was.
Trying my best.
Keeping space between us, keeping my guard up, keeping everything safe.
But her?
She wasn't trying to approach me.
Not even a little.
No casual "hello."
No forced small talk.
No accidental bumps in the hallway.
Nothing.
Even at school—
Even in the dorm—
She stayed distant.
Deliberate.
Controlled.
Gone, even when she was standing right there.
It wasn't just me pulling away.
She was avoiding me too.
It hit me during Robotics lab.
I dropped my stylus—just a clumsy little accident—and it rolled toward her side of the table.
Reflex made me reach for it.
Reflex made her reach too.
For a heartbeat, our hands almost touched.
Almost.
She froze—not a big, theatrical freeze.
Just a subtle tightening of her shoulders. A half-second of tension, clean and sharp.
Then, without a word, she pulled her hand back.
Let me pick it up.
No eye contact.
No apology.
Just distance.
Not fear.
Not disgust.
Something colder.
Something more practiced.
And I felt it, deep in my gut:
She wasn't just giving me space.
She was dodging me.
And somehow—
That realisation stung worse than it should have.
***
At first, it felt like relief.
Good.
She understood.
No games. No risks.
One less thing to worry about.
I told myself that.
Repeated it in my head like a mantra.
Carved it into my bones.
But over the next few days, I couldn't unsee it.
The way she lingered at her desk just a little longer if I entered a room first.
The way she waited for gaps in hall traffic to slip past without crossing paths.
Not clumsy.
Not scared.
Just... absent.
And that absence rang louder in my mind than any confrontation ever could.
She was supposed to be the one pressing too close.
She was supposed to be the one I needed to block, manage, outmaneuver.
Instead—
She moved away from me first.
But every time I caught the edge of her presence—just a sliver, just a breath—
every time she slipped around me like I wasn't even there—
the questions started eating at the corners of my mind.
Was it me she was avoiding?
Or something else?
Was it caution?
Or something uglier?
And why the hell did I even care?
***