As the first rays of morning sunlight slipped through the gaps in the curtains, Saki slowly opened her eyes.
For a while, she just stared at the ceiling in silence.
She didn't want to get out of bed.
It felt like waking up was nothing more than an invitation to relive the same pain all over again.
There was still that weight in her chest—
a heavy stone pressing right against her heart.
"Again… the same feeling."
Her voice was tired, barely more than a whisper.
She placed a hand on her forehead; a faint throb pulsed behind her temples.
Even her dreams last night had left her exhausted.
She sat up slowly and looked into the mirror.
Her pale reflection stared back at her—like a light that had quietly gone out.
The spark that once danced in her eyes was now replaced by a dull gray emptiness.
At the corners of her lips, a faint, weary line had settled.
"What happened to me…" she murmured.
But she didn't wait for an answer.
Because deep down, she knew—sometimes, even your own heart refuses to reply.
She prepared a small breakfast.
It was tasteless.
Every bite felt like swallowing another piece of silence.
Then she grabbed her bag, adjusted her school uniform, and walked to the door.
As she stepped out, a quiet voice whispered inside her:
"Just get through today, Saki."
But even she didn't believe it.
The cool morning breeze swept through her hair as she stepped onto the street.
The sky was overcast—just like her mood.
She walked slowly, her steps heavy, as if each one stirred the anger sleeping deep inside her.
"Why am I so tired?"
"Why does every day feel exactly the same?"
She kept her eyes on the cobblestones.
The crunch of dry leaves beneath her shoes broke the stillness.
After a while, the school building appeared in the distance.
Her heart clenched softly.
"I wish today didn't have to come," she whispered.
The moment she stepped into the corridors, the sound of students filled her ears—but none of it truly reached her.
When she arrived at the classroom door, she stopped.
Her hand hovered over the handle.
A fragile, trembling voice inside her pleaded:
"Please… don't let him be in there."
But wishes always seem to arrive too late.
She opened the door—
and her heart nearly stopped.
Hiroki was there.
His head rested on his arm, eyes closed in sleep.
The light from the window filtered through his hair, casting soft shadows over his face.
He looked peaceful… and that peace hurt Saki more than anything.
It was as if he didn't even know she existed.
As if nothing had ever happened.
Saki quietly walked to her seat, barely breathing.
She took out her pen and placed it on the desk.
Her hands trembled, though she tried to hide it.
"Stop hurting yourself, Saki," she told herself.
But her voice didn't sound convincing—even to her own heart.
The bell rang.
Hiroki lifted his head and sighed softly, opening his book like nothing had happened.
Saki glanced at him from the corner of her eye.
A moment of silence.
Then she whispered to herself:
"Not even once… will you look at me?"
She began spinning her pen between her fingers.
Her mind was a storm of thoughts, her heart a thousand shattered pieces.
Class started.
The teacher walked in, students opened their books.
But Saki couldn't focus at all.
Her eyes kept drifting toward Hiroki.
He was still silent.
No glance, no reaction.
Just a wall between them.
A sharp ache spread through her chest.
"Can't you see me?"
"Or do you just not want to anymore?"
After a while, she forced her gaze back to her textbook.
The words were blurry.
Her fingers clenched around the pen until her knuckles turned white.
Time passed; the bell rang.
Break time.
Hiroki packed up his things, then laid his head down again—
like he was running away.
From her, from everything.
Saki's chest burned with a mix of anger and pain.
"He's doing this on purpose… I know he is," she thought.
But deep down, she knew—maybe he was broken too.
She closed her eyes and sighed.
"Fine," she whispered, "I don't care anymore."
But her heart lied.
Yusuke left the classroom, hands in his pockets.
He didn't even look back.
Miyuki was half-asleep at her desk, struggling to stay awake.
A faint sadness crossed Saki's face.
"Everyone has their own silence," she thought.
"But why can't anyone reach out to each other?"
She drifted into her thoughts.
Time slowed.
And before she knew it, her head had sunk onto her arms.
She fell asleep.
A shout startled her awake.
"Take out your books!"
Saki shot up, her heart pounding.
"Oh no! I fell asleep!"
She grabbed her book and rubbed her eyes.
Out of the corner of her vision, she saw Hiroki.
He had his hand over his eyes, as if hiding from something unseen.
He looked so fragile—
Saki's heart tightened without warning.
"Maybe… maybe he really is hurting too."
Time flowed again.
Another class ended.
The bell rang.
Yusuke left as usual.
Miyuki was tapping her drumsticks on the desk rhythmically.
A small smile flickered on Saki's lips—then quickly faded.
Her gaze drifted toward Hiroki once more.
He was asleep again.
But this time, he wasn't alone.
Hana walked toward him, quiet and hesitant, carrying a chair in one hand.
Worry shadowed her face as she sat beside him.
She spoke softly—gently.
Saki couldn't hear the words, only the movement of her lips.
Then Hiroki lifted his head.
The calm on his face vanished—replaced by anger.
"How would you know!?" he shouted.
The class fell silent.
Hana stepped back, startled.
Still, she tried to say something, her voice trembling but kind.
Hiroki slammed his fist lightly on the desk.
"Just leave me alone!"
Hana grabbed her chair and walked away.
Her eyes were glassy, but she stayed silent.
Hiroki dropped his head onto the desk again
—
as if nothing had ever happened.
Saki sat frozen, unable to breathe.
Her eyes filled with tears, though none fell.
"Hiroki…" she thought,
"You would never have yelled at someone like that…"
She crossed her arms tightly, biting her nails.
Her thoughts tangled; her heart, even more so.
And in that moment, she realized—
the classroom, though full of people,
was drowning in loneliness.
A breeze drifted in from the open window.
The curtains swayed softly.
The pale sunlight brushed against Hiroki's face.
Even that light no longer seemed to shine the same.
And in the quiet of her mind, Saki thought only one thing:
"This silence… it's slowly destroying me."