(Kiyomi's POV)
The next day, the air in Class 2A felt heavier — not with noise or chaos, but with silence.
A kind of silence that lingered even after the bell rang, even after the teacher started talking.
People noticed it.
They always did.
The way Hinata and Akio didn't look at each other anymore.
The way Asahi's eyes followed her across the room, subtle but protective.
The way Minato and I sat close — closer than before — and how our hands almost brushed whenever we passed each other a note or shared a book.
The others whispered. I could feel it.
The tiny glances, the half-smiles, the quiet speculation that filled the empty spaces between classes.
But none of it mattered.
Not when Minato smiled at me like that.
Not when he leaned closer just to whisper something small, something that made my heart stutter even in the middle of a crowded room.
Still, I couldn't ignore the changes.
During break, Hinata sat outside under the trees, pretending to scroll through her phone. Asahi was beside her, eating a sandwich, the two of them not saying much but somehow still speaking volumes.
When I walked toward them, Hinata smiled — that kind of smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.
Kiyomi: Hey (I said softly, sitting beside her).
Hinata: Hey (She replied, her tone flat.
Asahi looked between us, sensing the tension but choosing not to comment. He was good at that — reading the air, staying calm even when everything felt uneven.
Kiyomi: Did you talk to Akio? (I finally asked).
Her expression tightened.
Hinata: No. I don't plan to, either.
Kiyomi: Hinata…
She sighed, closing her phone.
Hinata: Kiyomi, I'm tired of always being the one to fix things. Maybe he needs to sit with his own silence for once.
There it was again — that quiet ache in her voice, the one she tried to hide behind confidence.
Asahi handed her a drink.
Asahi: She's right (He said simply). Sometimes silence says what words can't.
She glanced at him, startled for a moment by how gentle his voice sounded.
Something passed between them — something I didn't quite understand but could feel.
And for a fleeting second, I thought I saw the tiniest trace of warmth in her expression again.
Later that day, during English class, I noticed Akio.
He sat three rows behind us, looking out the window instead of paying attention.
When his eyes accidentally met mine, it wasn't anger I saw — it was something quieter. Regret, maybe. Or confusion.
He looked away quickly.
Beside me, Minato leaned in and whispered.
Minato:He's trying not to explode.
I frowned.
Kiyomi: You saw?
He nodded slightly.
Minato: He's been tapping his pen nonstop for the past fifteen minutes.
Kiyomi: Do you think I should talk to him?
Minato looked at me, his gaze calm but firm.
Minato: Not yet. Let him come to you when he's ready. Everyone's hearts are loud right now — too loud to hear each other.
I didn't say anything. But his words stayed with me for the rest of the day.
When class ended, I waited by the school gate with Minato.
The clouds were low again — gray, moody, soft — like the world couldn't decide whether to rain or not.
Hinata and Asahi walked ahead, talking quietly.
Akio followed behind them, hands in his pockets, keeping his distance.
And me?
I stood beside Minato, our shoulders brushing slightly.
It was such a small thing — but somehow, that tiny contact felt louder than the entire day's silence combined.
He glanced at me.
Minato: You okay?
Kiyomi: I think so (I whispered). I just… hate seeing them like this.
He smiled faintly.
Kiyomi: We'll all figure it out eventually. Even broken things have their own way of healing — they just take time.
For a moment, we both watched Hinata and Asahi walk off ahead, their laughter mixing with the soft wind.
Minato reached out, brushing his fingers against mine.
And this time, I didn't hesitate. I let him hold my hand fully.
The world was quiet again. But this time, it didn't feel heavy.
It just felt… full.
Sometimes the loudest echoes aren't from the things we say — they come from the things we feel but never put into words.
And lately, I've realized that love — real love — doesn't always need to be spoken to be heard.