"Some silences are louder than confessions."
Dorm Room 3-C – 6:40 AM
Mio woke up to the sound of nothing.
No birds. No alarms. No early morning announcements.
Just the quiet hum of breath and the soft rhythm of a pencil sketching in the dark.
Aika.
She was already awake, curled near the window in an oversized sweatshirt, legs folded beneath her like a cat, sketchpad resting on her knees.
Wait—sketchpad?
> "Hey…" Mio rubbed her eyes. "That's mine."
> Aika didn't look up. "It was open."
> "So?"
> "So I looked."
Mio groaned and pulled her blanket over her face. "You could at least pretend to respect privacy."
> "I don't believe in pretending."
> "Clearly."
> "You draw people like you're scared to see their faces," Aika said quietly. "Like you want to remember them but also forget."
Mio peeked out from the blanket, heart skipping.
> "That's… specific."
Aika finally looked at her. Eyes soft. Expression unreadable.
> "I know the feeling."
And just like that, she closed the sketchbook, gently set it back beside Mio's pillow, and stood.
> "Coffee?"
> "Do we have coffee?"
> "No. But pretending we do makes the morning suck less."
School Hallway – Lunch Break
Sora was missing.
No one was surprised. Apparently, she did this often — vanished during lunch, showed up again with ink-stained fingers or paint on her wrist.
"She's in the art lab," a girl whispered once.
"She's in detention."
"She's with Reika-sensei. Alone."
"She's with someone else..."
Rumors moved fast.
But Mio noticed something else.
Reika-sensei hadn't looked at her once today.
Not during roll call. Not during reading. Not even when she mispronounced the name of a poem and everyone else giggled.
She wasn't avoiding her.
She was ignoring her.
Like she'd erased whatever flicker had passed between them the day before.
Mio hated how much that stung.
After Class
Aika didn't speak the entire walk back to the dorm.
But Mio could feel it — the tension in her shoulders, the way she chewed her sleeve, the glance she gave every closed classroom door like she was looking for something.
Or someone.
They reached their room.
The piano was uncovered.
Mio sat on her bed and pulled out her sketchbook. She started drawing Aika from memory this time. The way her fingers hovered above the keys, never quite touching.
Then she noticed it.
A torn piece of envelope. Stuffed behind the music stand.
> "Hey… what's this?"
> "Don't." Aika's voice cut like cold steel.
> "It's from Reika-sensei—" Mio paused. "Wait, this is yours?"
Aika snatched it, eyes wide.
> "You don't read letters that aren't for you."
> "I didn't read it—just saw her name—"
> "Doesn't matter," she said. "Not everything she writes is meant to be remembered."
She folded the paper, once, twice, a third time, until it disappeared into her palm.
Mio sat back slowly. "You knew her before?"
Aika didn't respond.
But her fingers… were trembling.
Night – Common Lounge
Sora finally appeared at 10:58 PM.
She was wearing someone else's hoodie. It smelled like paint thinner and cheap perfume. Her lips were slightly bruised. And she had a band-aid on her neck.
> "What happened to you?" Mio asked gently.
> Sora just blinked. "Got kissed. Didn't like it."
> "Do you wanna—"
> "No."
Then, softly, almost like an apology—
> "But thanks."
She walked past them and into the bathroom. Locked it.
The sound of water running didn't start for another ten minutes.
Later That Night – Aika's POV
She couldn't sleep.
The torn letter burned in her desk drawer. The piano keys felt heavier tonight. Every note she didn't play echoed louder in her chest.
She looked at Mio, sleeping restlessly. Lips parted. Fingers curled against her pillow like she was holding onto something even in dreams.
> She doesn't remember… does she?
> Or maybe she never knew.
The letter wasn't even hers.
It had been meant for Reika.
But she never sent it.
Because some confessions sound better unspoken.
Because if Reika ever read those words, she might actually come back.
And Aika wasn't sure she'd survive that.
Not again.