The next few days passed in a strange blur.
Shinbou Ryusei sat beside me in every class, just like before. He didn't speak to me, didn't ask questions, and didn't even seem curious about why I looked at him the way I did.
But I couldn't stop.
Every time I glanced his way, my heart squeezed a little tighter.
He looked so much like the boy from that summer the same name, the same eyes. But his gaze was empty, like I was nothing more than a classmate.
No warmth. No spark. No memory.
Was I really wrong?
"Maybe it's just a coincidence," Hinata said one afternoon as we sat on the rooftop, watching the clouds drift.
I had told her everything the summer in Gaokao, the boy I met, the short moment that meant everything.
She didn't laugh or call me dramatic. She just listened.
"There could be another Shinbou Ryusei out there," she offered gently. "Maybe it wasn't him after all."
I wanted to agree. I wanted to believe it was just a silly memory, a trick of the heart.
But deep down, something didn't add up.
---
That evening at school, I had gone back to the art room to grab my sketchbook. The hallways were mostly empty. The sun was low, casting long golden shadows through the windows.
As I turned the corner, I saw him.
Shinbou stood near the windows, staring out at the schoolyard.
He didn't move. He didn't notice me.
He just stood there, unmoving… and for the first time, he looked lost.
Not bored.
Not cold.
Lost.
I stepped closer without thinking. "Shinbou?"
He blinked and turned around slowly, almost like he had been pulled from a dream.
"Oh. It's you," he said, quickly straightening his expression.
"You okay?" I asked. "You looked… far away."
He shrugged. "Just spaced out. It happens."
But the way he said it felt too sharp like he was trying to convince himself, not me.
Shinbou," I said quietly.
He turned slowly. "Yeah?"
I hesitated. "I'm sorry if I made things weird. I didn't mean to."
There was a long pause.
"It's fine," he said at last. "You just surprised me, that's all."
Before I could ask more, he walked past me and down the hall.
I stood there alone, my sketchbook forgotten in my hands.
There was something in his eyes just then.
A flicker. A shadow. A question he didn't want to ask.
And I felt it again stronger this time.
He was the boy from that summer.
He just didn't remember.
Or maybe…
He couldn't.