The classroom was empty now. Only the faint breeze of the air conditioner and the rustle of paper remained.
Kenji stayed seated, staring at the torn page. His pencil lay abandoned beside him.
He flipped his sketchbook open to a fresh page. The same tree. The same three figures. But halfway through, the lines blurred. He stopped.
A sigh escaped him.
"What am I even doing…"
The door creaked open. Footsteps.
"Yo."
Seiji stepped in, leaning casually against a desk. His bag hung loose over one shoulder.
"You're still here?"
Kenji didn't look up. "Yeah."
Seiji glanced at his desk. "Aoi said you weren't feeling good."
Kenji frowned slightly. "She told you that?"
"Yeah," Seiji said. "You two had a fight or something?"
"No." Kenji's voice was low. "We just talked."
Seiji stepped closer, watching him quietly. "She looked… off. Sad."
Kenji's pencil hovered over the sketch. "She shouldn't be sad. She didn't do anything wrong."
"Neither did you," Seiji said softly.
Kenji gave a bitter laugh. "That's the thing. I always end up saying something wrong without meaning to."
Seiji smirked faintly. "You like her, don't you?"
Kenji froze. His pencil stopped mid-stroke.
Seiji didn't look away. "You're bad at hiding it."
Kenji glanced up, eyes tired. "It doesn't matter. She likes you."
"Me?" Seiji blinked. "Why would you think that?"
Kenji shrugged. "She laughs more around you. She talks more. It's obvious."
Seiji's expression softened. "You really don't see it, do you?"
Kenji frowned. "See what?"
"She only laughs like that when you're around."
Kenji blinked. Silence. His chest felt tight. Confusion.
The sound of the hallway bell pulled Seiji toward the door.
"Anyway," Seiji said, glancing back, "maybe try talking to her again before deciding what she feels."
Kenji stayed still, staring after him.
When the door closed, the classroom felt colder.
Kenji looked back at the sketch. His pencil moved again. Slow, deliberate. He erased the space between the two figures under the tree.
The lines faded. But the feeling stayed.