Amaya Kisaragi had always believed that the world was louder than it should be.
Not in the way most people complained about
not about crowded train stations or echoing hallways or the shrill bleeps of school bells.
No, Amaya's world was loud in a way she could never explain:
everything had a color.
Footsteps were pale yellow.
Laughter was soft pink.
Anger crackled in deep crimson.
The wind hummed in watercolor blue.
And melodies…
Melodies were always silver.
Not the flat gray of dull jewelry or the cold sheen of metal.
They were warm silver almost like an velvet silver moonlight resting on a lake, like a whispered secret glowing in the dark.
Music has been the one thing that didn't overwhelm her.
It was the only thing that calmed the colors instead of swelling them into storms.
Which was why, on her first day at Hanasakigawa Girls High School, Amaya brought her small foldable keyboard tucked safely in her bag. Not because she planned to play it, but because she needed it the like way others needed air.
And on that morning, walking through the gates beneath the archway embroidered with cherry blossoms, she could barely breathe.
She wasn't used to new places.
Or new people.
Or uniforms that didn't quite fit on the first try.
Or locker hallways that felt like tunnels of sound.
The moment she stepped inside, different colors flooded her vision like a runaway waterfall.
Voices—pink, yellow, green.
Laughter—peach and coral.
Shoes scraping—bright white sparks.
A dropped pencil case—brown shockwaves.
It was too much.
Far too much.
She kept her head down, letting her hair fall like a curtain. The students around her moved in clumps and clusters, flowing like tides she didn't know how to swim in.
No one talked to her. Which was perfect.
Except "Transfer student?" someone whispered, pale lemon.
"She looks quiet," someone else murmured, washed-out lavender.
"Wonder where she's from…"
Their curiosity brushed against her skin like static.
Not painful.
Just… noticeable.
She quickly hurried past them.
By the time she reached her classroom, her shoulders felt tight and her breathing was shallow. She bowed automatically when the teacher introduced her, her voice barely escaping her lungs when she said her name:
"Kisaragi Amaya."
The class clapped politely.
The colors softened a little.
But her seat was by the window which was good for staring outside, but not good for avoiding attention.
Someone tapped her shoulder gently.
"Welcome," a girl said with an encouraging smile. "If you need any help, ask me, okay?"
Her voice was light blue. Comforting, but unfamiliar. Amaya just nodded her head .
She didn't know if she could ask anyone anything. Classes went passed in a blur.
Math—navy blue.
History—sepia brown.
English—sky blue.
Lunch bell—bright, searing yellow that stabbed behind her eyes.
As soon as the bell rang, students burst into chatter, filling the room with a swirl of different colors like an exploding bouquet.
Amaya couldn't stay here.
She stood abruptly and quietly grabbed her bag, and slipped out of the classroom before anyone could trap her in conversation.
The hallway was crowded.
She moved fast. Down one hallway. Then another. Up a flight of stairs. Then another.
Her feet kept going, driven by instinct more than thought.
She needed somewhere empty.
Somewhere quiet.
Somewhere she could breathe again.
The rooftop.
She stopped in front of the old metal door painted with a fading sign:
ROOFTOP — STAFF ACCESS ONLY
She pressed the handle.
Click.
Unlocked.
Amaya opened it slowly, half-expecting a teacher to yell at her. Luckily for her no one was there.
The rooftop was drenched in sunlight, warm but not harsh. The sky stretched vast and pale, barely any visible clouds. The breeze whispered in shifting shades of blue, lighter at the edges, darker near the center.
Amaya stepped out, letting the door fall shut behind her with a soft metallic thud.
The moment she inhaled the open air, her lungs loosened.
She sat near the railing, slowly pulled out her foldable keyboard, and placed it on her lap.
Her fingers hovered above the keys.
Music.
Silver music.
Like always.
She took a deep breath, letting the tension slip from her shoulders, and began to play.
A single note.
Then two.
Then a melody that swirled gently like drifting petals, weaving slow, soft lines of silver through the rooftop air.
Her fingers remembered the song more than her mind did. It was a piece she'd written a few months ago, when she'd felt like breaking apart and needed sound to hold her together.
It was a quiet song.
A fragile song.
Something that wasn't meant for anyone else to hear. But up here, no one could
CRASH.
The rooftop door was slammed open.
Amaya's hands jerked, hitting the wrong keys jarring clash of colors.
Her head snapped upward in shock.
Standing in the doorway was a girl she had never seen before.
She wasn't gasping.
She wasn't cautious.
She was glowing.
Short, messy peach hair framed her face like flames caught in motion. Her uniform was slightly wrinkled, her tie loosened, and a guitar case hung was over her back—dented, scuffed, and clearly cherished.
But it was her expression that froze Amaya:
Awe.
Pure, wild awe.
"You—" the girl breathed.
"You're the one."
Amaya slowly blinked.
Her heart stumbled.
"…What?"
"You were playing," the girl said, stepping forward with the unsteady steps of someone who sprinted up too many stairs. "Downstairs this morning. By the shoe lockers. I heard someone playing something… something soft. Something beautiful."
She came closer, stopping just a meter away.
"And now I found you."
Found her?
Amaya's pulse tightened.
She wasn't used to being found.
She preferred being unnoticed.
"Um…" Amaya swallowed. "Were you… looking for someone?"
"No." The girl shook her head, then grinned. "I was looking for you."
Why?
Why her?
"Your music…" The girl's voice softened, turning warm amber. "It was like—like everything around me stopped."
Amaya's breath caught.
"No one was supposed to hear that," she murmured.
"But I did," the girl insisted. "And I wanted to hear it again."
Amaya looked down, suddenly aware of her hands on the keys.
"I'm just… practicing."
"Practice doesn't sound like that," the girl said immediately. "Practice sounds like messing up and retrying and getting frustrated. What you were playing… it sounded like you were saying something. Like it meant something to you."
Amaya didn't know how to respond to that.
The girl took a step forward, eyes bright with earnest intensity.
"Can you…"
She hesitated.
For the first time, she seemed unsure.
"Can you play it again?"
Amaya froze.
She had never played in front of anyone.
Not her parents.
Not her classmates.
Not anyone.
Her world had always been too loud for her to share her quiet with it.
"I… don't know," Amaya whispered.
"Please," the girl said, and her voice wasn't pushy—it was trembling with real emotion.
"I need to hear it again."
Need?
Why would anyone need her music?
The wind swept across the rooftop, stirring their uniforms.
Amaya drew a slow breath.
Her heart felt like it was balancing on the edge of something unknown terrifying, but not unpleasant.
She placed her fingers on the keys again.
"Okay," she whispered.
The girl lit up like sunrise.
Amaya closed her eyes. And she played.
Silver.
The notes unfurled like a gentle tide—soft, rippling, fragile. Each sound floated upward, slow and deliberate, carrying the ache she never spoke aloud.
Her fear.
Her loneliness.
Her longing to be understood.
Her exhaustion from trying to navigate a world too bright and too loud.
It was all in the sound.
When she opened her eyes, the girl was standing perfectly still breath held, gaze locked on Amaya's hands as if the slightest movement might shatter the moment.
The melody drifted through the air until it came to its soft, inevitable end.
Silence.
The rooftop felt different now.
Less empty.
More alive.
The girl exhaled shakily.
"That…"
She swallowed.
"That wasn't just music."
Amaya let her hands fall from the keys.
"It's just something I do. To calm down."
"No." The girl shook her head. "It's something more. Something real."
She stepped forward as if approaching something sacred.
"People don't play like that unless they care. Unless they feel something deep."
Amaya looked away, her chest tightening.
The girl stuck out her hand suddenly, her expression brightening.
"My name's Rika."
Amaya blinked.
"…Rika?"
"Yep!" She grinned, flashing a small dimple. "And you're Amaya Kisaragi." Amaya stiffened.
"How—"
"I heard the teacher say it during introductions," Rika said with a small shrug. "I walked past the classroom and saw you writing something in your notebook. You looked like someone who had music in her head."
Her intuition was frightening.
But strangely accidentally
Amaya stared at her outstretched hand.
Rika didn't look like someone who held back.
Her aura blazed bright and wild, neon yellow and orange radiating off her like she wasn't afraid of anything.
Amaya didn't understand how someone could live like that.
Still, she slowly took Rika's hand, hesitant but curious.
The moment their fingers touched—
A flash of color erupted behind Rika.
Not blinding, not overwhelming—
but vivid and alive.
Yellow.
Pink.
Electric blue.
A color she had never seen on any person before.
Rika's eyes widened just slightly, as if she felt something too.
She squeezed Amaya's hand gently.
"I don't know what your dream is," she said softly.
"But whatever it is… I want to hear it."
Amaya's throat tightened.
Dream?
Did she even have one?
No one had ever asked.
No one had ever cared
Rika let go and took a small step back, excitement flickering in her eyes.
"Let's make music together."
Amaya froze.
"…Why me?"
"Because you look like someone who's been playing alone for too long," Rika said, voice steady and honest. "And because your music deserves to be heard."
Amaya shook her head weakly.
"I'm not good with people."
"Then I'll be people for both of us," Rika said without hesitation.
Amaya's breath caught.
Was Rika always like this?
Bold?
Reckless?
Fearless?
Or was she just full of a light that which Amaya lacked?
The wind brushed past, scattering Rika's hair like flickering flame.
Amaya looked at her keyboard, then back at Rika.
"…Maybe," she whispered.
Rika's entire face broke into a brilliant smile a smile so bright Amaya almost saw more colors rise behind her.
"Then it's decided!" Rika declared.
"We'll start something together!"
"Start… what?" Amaya asked cautiously.
Rika pointed at her guitar case.
"A band.
A band.
The word hit Amaya like a dropped stone in a still pond, sending ripples through her thoughts.
She had never played with anyone else.
Never imagined it.
Never dared.
"I don't know if I can—"
"You can," Rika said firmly. "Because I believe you can."
Belief.
No one had ever given her that before.
Amaya looked down at her keyboard, then at her hands, then at Rika again who was watching her with expectant, hopeful eyes.
Something inside her shifted.
She didn't know if she wanted a band.
But she knew one thing:
For the first time in a long time, she wasn't afraid of being seen.
"…Okay," she whispered again, barely audible.
Rika leaned forward.
"What was that?"
Amaya cleared her throat softly.
"I said… okay."
Rika let out a cheer so loud it filled the rooftop with bright neon yellows, oranges, and pinks.
Amaya flinched then smiled.
That was how it began.
One quiet girl.
One loud girl.
One rooftop.
One song.
A single moment that would change everything.
And neither of them realized it yet but this was only the first note in a melody destined to become something extraordinary.