(Kiyomi's POV)
The following morning, Class 2A buzzed with low chatter — the kind that carried half-truths and sharpened glances. The five gossip girls sat in their usual corner — Sakura, Miko, Rin, Yui, and Chiyo — whispering between stifled laughter. They weren't cruel, just easily entertained. And right now, Minato and I were their favorite topic.
Rumors moved fast in Class 2A. One whisper in the morning could become a headline by lunch.
"Did you hear?" someone would say. "Kiyomi and Minato walked home together again." Or, "They say he held her hand the whole way." Each retelling came with new embellishments — a smile here, a blush there — until even those who knew nothing started to believe everything.
Akio sat quietly at his desk, pretending to read but hearing every word. The laughter around him sounded louder than usual, and though no one said his name, he could feel the weight of their eyes when they glanced his way. The distance he'd built around himself now felt like a wall closing in.
Hinata, seated a few rows ahead, caught the tension in his silence. She wanted to say something — maybe ease the weight on his chest — but she didn't. Not yet.
By the time lunch came, all five of us — Minato, Akio, Hinata, Asahi and I — found ourselves sitting in the same place again, near the back of the courtyard under the big almond tree. The mood was fragile but quiet.
After a long silence, the air began to feel lighter. Soon we began talking little by little.
Asahi broke the silence first.
Asahi: I've been meaning to ask… did Minato really spend the night at your place when there was a storm? Or was it just a fake rumor?
Kiyomi: Yes, he did. Is there any problem?
Akio scoffed, his jaw tightening.
Akio: Any problem? You act like it's nothing — but it's not. You know what? I'll go take a stroll.
He turned to leave, but before he could take another step, Minato's calm voice followed him.
Minato: Akio. You can't keep being distant. If we keep doing things like this, nothing will ever be fixed.
His tone was firm but gentle, calm yet commanding — the kind that reached deeper than anger.
Akio paused, his back still turned, his heart caught between resentment and longing for peace. Then he walked away without a word.
The afternoon passed slowly. After school, as Minato and I walked home together, the quiet between us was soft — filled with unspoken warmth. Our fingers brushed again, and this time, Minato didn't hesitate. He took my hand, intertwining our fingers.
Minato: Your hand fits mine perfectly.
I blushed hard, looking away but smiling. Kiyomi: You say the strangest things sometimes (I murmured).
We laughed, teased, and walked side by side, unaware that someone else was watching — Akio. He had turned the corner just in time to see Minato tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear. The sight froze him. The ache he thought he'd buried rose again.
That night, sleep didn't come easily.
The next morning, as the early bell rang, Akio approached my desk before anyone else arrived. His face was calm, but his tone was sharp enough to cut through the quiet.
Akio: Kiyomi… what were you and Minato doing on your way home?
The question hung in the air — heavy, personal, impossible to ignore.
I froze. The room felt smaller. Outside, the morning light slanted through the windows, bright and cold.
And just like that, another day in Class 2A began — one that would test where everyone's heart truly stood.