The moment stretches, suspended in the quiet air of the stairwell. His hand is still loosely circling my wrist, a warm phantom of the support he'd just given me. The echo of the touch, the bone-deep familiarity of it, is still sending tremors through my system. My skin remembered a story my mind had forgotten, and the revelation is as terrifying as it is miraculous.
Down below, my fallen lunchbox lies open, its contents a colorful, tragic mess on the concrete. The sight of it finally breaks the spell.
"Oh, my lunch," I whisper, embarrassment flooding my cheeks and overriding the strange intimacy of the moment.
Reo seems to shake himself, too, letting his hand drop from my wrist completely. The loss of the contact is surprisingly sharp. "Don't worry about it. I'll help you clean it up," he says, his voice a little strained. He's already heading down the last few steps, bending to retrieve the empty bento box.
He won't meet my eyes. He's putting up a wall, retreating back to the safety of our established, formal routine. He's giving me space after a moment of unexpected, unvetted intimacy. The gesture is so respectful it makes my heart ache.
"We need to hurry. The bell…" I trail off, grabbing a few napkins from my bag to help mop up the spilled rice. We work quickly and in silence, the air still thick with the memory of what just happened.
The rest of the school day passes in a blur. I can't concentrate. My wrist still tingles where he held it. I keep flexing my fingers, half-expecting to feel the ghost of his grip. In my mind's eye, I see that moment over and over: my ankle turning, the lurch of falling, and the absolute certainty of his hand catching me. A muscle memory I didn't know I had. A trust my body had been keeping secret.
When the final bell rings, signalling the start of after-school activities, Nami is practically vibrating with excitement. "Club fair! Club fair! It's the one day a year you can sample all the clubs before you commit! We're going to get so much free candy!"
The thought of navigating a loud, chaotic gymnasium full of strangers makes my already frayed nerves scream in protest. The chaos and the noise… Nurse Shidou had warned that overstimulation could be a trigger for dizzy spells or memory interference, making it harder for the day's fragile memories to hold on until sunset.
"Nami, I don't know…" I start, my stomach churning.
"Nope! No backing out!" she insists, grabbing my hand—her touch friendly and light, a stark contrast to the deep, grounding weight of Reo's. "We have to go. It's a mandatory high school experience! Besides," she lowers her voice conspiratorially, "Reo-kun will be there."
"He will?" I ask, surprised. "I thought he wasn't in a club."
"He isn't," she says, pulling me out into the bustling hallway. "But the student council makes him come and be a handsome figurehead to lure in new first-years. It's his curse as the School Prince."
True to her word, the gymnasium is a sensory explosion. Brightly colored banners hang from the ceiling, booths are crammed into every available space, and the noise of hundreds of students shouting, laughing, and trying to recruit new members is a physical force. Senior students shove flyers and candy into my hands. The kendo club members are shouting battle cries. The brass band is warming up with a cacophony of competing notes.
It's too much. The world starts to feel fuzzy at the edges, the sounds blending into a meaningless roar. A wave of dizziness washes over me, and I stumble, leaning against Nami for support.
"Whoa, you okay, Ari?" she asks, her cheerful expression melting into one of concern.
"It's just… it's a lot," I manage to say, squeezing my eyes shut. I need quiet. I need the rooftop.
"Let's get you out of here," she says, her arm wrapping around my shoulders to steady me.
As she starts to guide me toward the exit, my ears catch a single, clear sound that cuts through the surrounding chaos. A voice. It's not shouted; it's projected, clear and full of emotion, coming from a corner of the gym where the drama club has set up a small, makeshift stage.
"…and even if the world forgets you, even if the stars fall from the sky," the voice recites, imbued with a passionate, yearning quality, "I will not. My heart will remember this promise, even if my mind cannot."
The cadence of the words, the rhythm of the speech, washes over me like a calming wave. The chaotic noise of the gym fades into a dull background hum. This… I know this. Like a song I've heard a thousand times, the rise and fall of the actor's voice feels intensely, deeply familiar. It settles the panicked buzzing in my head.
Drawn by an unseen force, I pull away from Nami and walk toward the sound, weaving through the throng of students. Reo, standing near the student council booth as predicted, sees my movement. His eyes lock onto mine with a question, and then he's moving too, following me.
I arrive at the drama club's small, captive audience just as the second-year student playing the lead delivers another line. He's practicing a monologue from their upcoming spring play, 'Echoes in the Starlight.'
"What is a memory but a ghost we choose to believe in?" he proclaims dramatically.
The dizziness is gone, replaced by a strange sense of peace. The rhythm of the words is like a lullaby. Procedural memory again? Had I watched them practice yesterday? And the day before? Was this another secret routine my body had kept?
The club president, a third-year girl with a flair for the dramatic, spots me watching, enraptured. "Ah, a new face! Are you interested in joining the drama club, first-year?"
Before I can answer, my brain short-circuiting, Nami catches up to me, with Reo a few feet behind her. "She is!" Nami declares, ever my enthusiastic agent. "She has the soul of a thespian!"
The club president beams. "Excellent! We need new members for the cultural festival play later this year. Just write your name down on the interest sheet." She shoves a clipboard and pen into my hands.
My hand hovers over the paper. Me? On a stage? My "before" self was painfully shy. But this new, untethered version of me… she's different. The emotional exposure of acting, the idea of stepping into someone else's story, feels… appealing. Safe, even. And the sense of familiarity, of rightness, that settled over me while listening to that monologue is undeniable. It's another breadcrumb. Another clue left by the ghost of yesterday's Arisa.
I write my name down. Arisa Tsukimi, Class 1-B.
"Wonderful!" the president gushes. "We also need a few reliable students for stage crew and backstage management. Someone responsible, quiet, good at keeping things on schedule…" Her eyes scan the crowd and land directly on Reo, who had been trying to remain inconspicuous behind a potted plant. Her eyes light up. "Kisaragi-kun! Perfect!"
Reo looks trapped. "With all due respect, Senpai, I'm not…"
"Nonsense! A prince must support the arts! It will look wonderful on your student council report," she declares, leaving no room for argument. "I'm putting your name down right now."
She snatches the clipboard from me and scribbles Reo's name under the 'Stage Management' column before he can protest further. Then she beams at the two of us.
"Welcome to the drama club! The official pairings and roles for the cultural festival play will be posted next week." She claps her hands decisively. "I have a feeling you two are going to be a phenomenal team."
She bustles away to recruit more members, leaving me and Reo standing there in stunned silence amidst the chaos of the fair. The club president reads out the pairings for the festival play, and I'm cast opposite the one person I'm destined to forget.