The sun had returned after days of grey skies, casting golden light through the wide windows of Crescent High. It softened the edges of lockers and painted warm streaks across polished floors. But inside Lia Chen, the storm hadn't settled.
Not with Su Rina's warning still echoing in her head.
Not with the way Kai's eyes kept finding hers when he thought she wasn't looking.
And certainly not with the way her heart felt like it was walking on the edge of something she didn't understand.
—
That morning, Kai was already in the art room before anyone else arrived.
He stood near the windows, sleeves rolled up, arms crossed, his gaze distant. When Lia entered, he looked up—just a flicker—but it was enough to make her slow down.
"You're early," she said.
"I could say the same."
He moved aside so she could pass, and they stood near the same table they always did—together, but with silence between them.
Lia reached into her bag to pull out her sketchpad, but paused when she noticed something on the table.
A small box.
She looked up. "What's this?"
Kai didn't answer immediately. Then he said, "Open it."
Inside was a tiny keychain—silver, shaped like a paintbrush and ink bottle. Delicate. Thoughtful. Quietly beautiful.
"I saw it last weekend. Thought you might like it."
Lia stared at him. "Why?"
Kai's gaze didn't waver. "Because you keep giving pieces of yourself to the world with your drawings. Thought you deserved something back."
Lia's breath caught in her chest.
He was different lately. Softer. Still guarded, but less distant. Like he was leaning in without knowing how far to go.
She clutched the keychain in her palm. "Thank you."
—
Later that day, Su Rina stood beside her locker with Mei Ling and Yara, all three of them watching the art room door from a distance.
"He gave her something," Yara whispered.
"I saw it," Su Rina said flatly.
"She smiled," Mei Ling added.
Su Rina narrowed her eyes. "She's not even trying to hide it anymore."
Yara leaned in, voice low. "What are you going to do?"
"I'm going to remind her that silence doesn't make her safe."
—
The next morning, Lia walked into class to find a folded piece of paper on her desk. It wasn't addressed. No handwriting. Just simple white paper.
Inside was a photo—grainy, taken from behind a curtain during the art club meeting. It showed Lia laughing. And in the corner of the image, Kai was watching her.
A line was scrawled at the bottom:
> You're not invisible anymore. Hope you're ready for the spotlight.
Lia's fingers trembled slightly.
That was no compliment.
She looked around, but everyone was already settling into their seats.
Only Su Rina met her eyes.
And smiled.
—
The rest of the day passed in a blur—lectures that barely registered, pages flipped without meaning. When the final bell rang, Lia slipped out of class, heading straight for the quiet rooftop garden Kai had shown her.
She needed air.
When she opened the rusted door, she didn't expect to see him there—already waiting.
He looked surprised to see her too, but didn't say anything. Just stepped aside and let her in.
"I needed some quiet," Lia said softly.
"You always do."
They sat in silence for a while, both staring at the sky.
Then Kai said, "You got that note, didn't you?"
Lia turned her head sharply. "You knew?"
"I saw it happen. I didn't want to step in unless you needed me to."
"I don't want trouble," she whispered. "I didn't ask for this."
"I know," he said gently. "But sometimes trouble finds good people just because they're noticed."
She stared at the cracked tile floor.
"I was quiet for a long time too," he added. "But then you showed up… and things didn't feel as quiet anymore."
Her heart stumbled.
"Kai—"
"I like you, Lia."
There it was.
No metaphor. No detour.
Just truth, placed between them like fragile glass.
She looked up at him, lips parted, unsure what to say.
"I don't expect an answer," he added. "I just didn't want you to keep wondering."
Lia held the keychain tighter in her hand.
"I don't know what this is yet," she said honestly. "But I… feel something too."
His expression softened.
She stood. "Do you want to go out sometime?"
He blinked. "Are you asking me?"
Lia blushed. "Only because I think if I wait for you, I'll be ninety."
He actually laughed. A small one—but genuine.
"Yes," he said. "I'd like that."
—
That evening, Lia couldn't stop smiling.
She didn't even notice when her mom asked about her mood.
She floated upstairs, placed the silver keychain on her nightstand, and drew the moment out in her sketchpad—Kai's quiet laugh, the way the sunlight hit his face on the rooftop.
A soft page.
One she'd never show anyone else.
Because it belonged to her.