The bell rang twice before Alex realized it was meant for him.
For a moment, he stayed where he was, pen resting loosely between his fingers, eyes fixed on the faint reflection of the classroom window. Outside, the sky was clear in that way it only ever was on school mornings, blue without intention, calm without effort.
The classroom began to empty itself in fragments.
Chairs scraped against the floor. Backpacks zipped and unzipped. Someone laughed too loudly, like they were already halfway gone. A book fell, was picked up, and disappeared into the current of students spilling into the hallway.
Alex closed his notebook without looking at what he'd written.
He hadn't been taking notes anyway.
The teacher said something about homework, he caught the word Friday then moved on, already packing her own things. Alex stood slowly, slinging his backpack over one shoulder, feeling the familiar weight settle against his back.
That was when he noticed Lena.
She was still seated a few rows ahead, pencil moving steadily across the page, unbothered by the noise around her. Everyone else seemed to move like time was chasing them. She didn't. She wrote as if the bell hadn't rung at all.
Alex hesitated.
He didn't know why he waited. Maybe it was curiosity. Maybe it was the strange calm she seemed to carry with her, like she existed slightly outside the rush of everything.
He leaned against the edge of a desk, pretending to adjust his bag.
The classroom thinned until it was mostly empty. The air felt different without all the voices, lighter, quieter. Lena finally paused, lifting her pencil and tilting her head, as if rereading something only she could see.
"You don't rush," Alex said before he had time to think better of it.
She looked up.
Her eyes met his, soft green and steady, not startled, just attentive. "I don't like missing things," she replied after a moment.
He nodded, like that made perfect sense.
"Most people do," he said. "Rush, I mean."
She shrugged lightly. "Most people seem tired."
That made him smile.
She closed her notebook carefully, sliding it into her bag. As she stood, Alex noticed the faint smudges of graphite on her fingers, the sleeve of her sweater slipping down her wrist without her bothering to fix it.
They walked out together, not exactly side by side, but close enough that he was aware of her presence with every step.
The hallway had shifted in the few minutes they'd stayed behind. It was quieter now, echoes replacing noise. Lockers stood open and forgotten, a few students lingering in pockets of conversation.
"So," she said, breaking the silence, "you always sit by the window?"
"Yeah," Alex replied. "Feels less… boxed in."
She nodded again. "I get that."
They stopped near the stairs, an unspoken pause settling between them. Alex didn't know what came next. Conversation didn't come easily to him, not like music did.
"I'm heading to the art room," Lena said. "Free period."
"Music room for me," he answered. "Same deal."
She smiled faintly. "Figures."
Before he could ask what she meant, she waved lightly and headed down the hall, disappearing around the corner. Alex watched her go for a second longer than necessary before forcing himself to move.
The music room was empty when he arrived.
That wasn't unusual. Most people treated it like a storage space rather than a sanctuary. Alex liked it that way. He set his guitar case down carefully, opening it with the familiarity of habit.
The guitar felt cool beneath his fingers. He didn't plug in. Didn't sing. He just strummed lightly, letting the strings hum in the quiet room.
The sound wasn't loud, but it filled the space anyway.
He played without direction, letting his fingers wander, stopping when something didn't feel right, starting again without frustration. There was no audience. No expectations. Just the sound and the moment.
He thought about Lena, about the way she didn't rush, about how she'd looked at him without curiosity about his name. He wondered if she even knew it.
The thought was oddly comforting.
The door creaked open a little while later. Jon stepped in first, bass slung low, Neil following close behind with his usual careless energy.
"There you are," Neil said. "We thought you ditched."
Alex shrugged. "Just early."
Jon nodded once, already plugging in. "That's new."
They played quietly, nothing rehearsed, nothing serious. Neil tapped rhythms against the desk instead of the drums. Jon experimented with softer basslines, letting notes stretch instead of hitting hard.
Alex didn't sing.
For once, that felt fine.
Lunch came and went in fragments. The cafeteria buzzed, but Alex barely registered it. He listened more than he talked, watching how people moved, how they laughed, how some sat alone without looking lonely while others were surrounded and still seemed distant.
He spotted Lena across the room, sitting near the windows again, sketchbook open beside her tray. She caught him looking and didn't look away. Just raised her eyebrow slightly, like she was acknowledging something unspoken.
After lunch, the day slowed.
Classes blurred together, less memorable than the space between them. Alex found himself paying attention to small things, the sound of pages turning, the hum of the lights, the way the afternoon sun angled lower with every passing hour.
By the time the final bell rang, he felt tired in a good way. The kind of tired that came from paying attention.
Outside, the courtyard was warm, the stone benches holding onto heat from the day. Lena sat on one of them, sketchbook resting on her knees.
Alex stopped nearby, uncertain.
"You're everywhere," he said finally.
She looked up and smiled. "Or you just notice now."
He laughed quietly. "Maybe."
They sat in companionable silence for a few minutes. A group of students passed by, talking about weekend plans, music, nothing important.
"What are you drawing today?" he asked.
She angled the sketchbook just enough for him to see, a rough outline of the courtyard, not detailed, just shapes and light.
"I like moments before they disappear," she said. "They feel honest."
Alex nodded slowly. "Music's kind of like that."
She glanced at him. "Yeah?"
"Yeah," he said. "You play it, and it's gone. Even if people remember it, that exact moment doesn't come back."
She considered that, then smiled. "I like that."
The sun dipped lower. Shadows stretched.
"Well," she said, closing her sketchbook, "I should head out."
"Yeah," Alex replied. "Me too."
They stood at the same time, awkward again, but not uncomfortable.
"See you tomorrow?" she asked.
"Yeah," he said. "Tomorrow."
She walked away, and this time he didn't watch her go. He didn't need to.
As Alex headed home, guitar case resting against his shoulder, he realized something felt different, not louder, not brighter, just steadier.
The days were still ordinary.
But for the first time, they felt like they were leading somewhere.