Why are there seasons?
I've asked myself that more times than I care to admit.
No, not in the scientific way. Not about weather, not about how the Earth spins into place, or how everything changes from hot to cold.
But about us, people.
Why do we bloom so suddenly, like spring, reckless with hope, only to wither when things turn cold? Why does something that feels endless in the heat of summer fall apart with the first chill?
Humans are so fragile. They pretend they're constant, but they change like weather, without warning or reason. And you never know which version of them you'll meet tomorrow.
It's strange.
People like to think change comes with some grand moment attached to it. It could be a turning point, a confession, or some conveniently timed encounter beneath a shower of sakura petals.
The stories make it look so easy.
Where a boy trips over a girl he's never met, the wind brushes past as the strands of her uneven hair shift across those unreadable eyes. Their eyes meet for all of three seconds, and the world already pauses.
Suddenly, everything has meaning.
Calling it fate, "love at first sight."
It sounds sweet, so sweet, you're supposed to feel breathless, shaken, swept into something magical. As if the world shifts, and suddenly, a stranger becomes the prelude to your love story.
I used to wonder if that was how seasons changed too.
Suddenly.
As if we'd simply looked away for too long, only to find a flower already in bloom.
Seasons aren't like that.
"Rael."
Spring doesn't arrive in a single morning
Summer doesn't end just because the date on a calendar says it should.
"Rael!"
And Winter rarely leaves without a patch of snow refusing to melt.
We only think they do.
Because—
"RAEL!!!"
I blinked, dazed beneath a familiar ceiling.
"Oh, sorry."
My eyes wandered across the room until they settled on the bookshelf tucked against the wall.
Right. Cyrus's apartment. He'd been living alone since starting senior high. I still wasn't sure whether to call it independence or just really expensive loneliness.
I looked down to find Cyrus staring up at me from the foot of our table. His fingers drummed an uneven rhythm against the tabletop, his brows knitted together as though he'd been carrying the same thought for hours.
The look that only came from overthinking.
"Can I ask you something?"
I shrugged, I fixed my posture trying to look serious, as if I didn't doze off.
"It's weird," he continued.
"What is?"
Cyrus let out a sigh, spinning his phone across the surface of the table before catching it just as it reached the edge.
"...We're still talking."
"Every day."
"Isn't that a good thing?"
A dry laugh escaped him. "That's the problem."
I frowned. He wanted to ask me something. Somehow, I'd ended up asking instead.
Cyrus looked down at his phone, thumb lingering over a chat window before locking the screen again.
"We still say 'good morning.' We still ask how the other's doing. We still tell each other to get home safe," he laughed quietly.
"Everything's... the same," his smile faded almost as soon as it appeared.
"...But it doesn't feel the same anymore."
Somehow, the silence between the two of us still felt louder.
"The conversations end quicker."
"She replies."
"Just... not like she used to."
He rubbed the back of his neck. Cyrus still hadn't asked his question. Whatever it was, he seemed more afraid of hearing the answer than asking it. People rarely hesitate that long unless they're already bracing for one.
"Nothing happened, Rael."
"No fight."
"No argument."
"No reason."
"It's like..." He paused as he searched for the words. "...we're still talking."
"...But somehow, we've already stopped."
I already knew the answer Cyrus wanted to hear.
Something reassuring. Something that would convince him this was all in his head—that she'd simply been busy, that tomorrow would be different, that nothing had really changed. Maybe it would've made him feel better. I just wasn't convinced it would've made him any less wrong. Those answers were always the easiest to give.
I knew because I'd spent too long waiting for life to work the way stories said it would.
Cyrus lowered his gaze to the floor. His fingers curled tightly around one another, his breathing just a little heavier than before. He opened his mouth once, only to close it again, as though even putting the thought into words made it harder to bear.
"I don't know..." he muttered. "Maybe I'm just watching it end before it actually does."
I drew in a slow breath, the words sat at the edge of my tongue, refusing to come out. Once I said them, there wouldn't be a kinder way to take them back.
"...Then stop treating it like it already has."
His head snapped up. The disbelief on his face lingered for a moment, as if he'd expected almost any answer but that one.
"...What?"
"You're grieving a relationship that doesn't even have a beginning yet." His eyes faltered. Confusion slowly crept across his face, as though the thought had caught him somewhere between denial and understanding.
"Nothing you've told me confirms anything." I held his gaze for a moment before continuing, careful not to let my voice soften into something it wasn't. "You're filling in the silence with conclusions."
Cyrus opened his mouth, only for the words to die there.
"...It still hurts."
"I know."
"Even if... I'm the one who's got it all wrong..." A quiet breath escaped him, somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. "...it still hurts."
My words hung between us, unanswered. They might've stayed that way too—
"Will you quit sounding like you're delivering a diagnosis?"
Nevermind.
I glanced toward the kitchen entrance. Mikhail approached there with three steaming mugs balanced carefully in his hands, one brow raised as though he'd been listening longer than either of us realized. He crossed the room and set them onto the coffee table before dropping onto the couch beside Cyrus.
"I'm just saying," he continued, nudging Cyrus lightly with his elbow. "You don't have to decide it's over just because things feel different right now. Sometimes people pull away for reasons that have nothing to do with losing feelings."
I let out a quiet breath through my nose and rubbed a hand across my forehead. "I'm not saying it is." Mikhail leaned back against the couch and looked at me expectantly. "Then what are you actually trying to tell him?"
"I know how Cyrus feels about her." My eyes drifted toward Cyrus. "...But I don't know how she feels about him."
His gaze drifted to the coffee table, settling on the untouched mug in front of him. His fingers traced slow circles along its rim, as though avoiding my eyes somehow made the answer easier to accept.
"Then... what am I supposed to do?"
"Talk to her."
His head lifted again, his brows drawing together ever so slightly.
"Just... ask?"
I gave a small nod, holding his gaze to make sure there wasn't any room for misunderstanding.
"You're trying to finish a conversation that's never happened. The only person who can answer your questions is the one you're asking them about."
Mikhail leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "...And if the answer isn't what he wants?"
I let the question hang for a moment, my fingers interlocking beneath my chin before I finally spoke.
"...Then at least it'll be real."
My eyes found Cyrus again.
"Just don't walk into that conversation expecting it to fix everything."
His lips parted, but no words came. The silence in his expression—I couldn't help but wonder if he'd already begun imagining the answer he feared most. I looked away briefly before continuing.
"Conversations don't create answers. They reveal them."
"...And sometimes the truth isn't the one you've been hoping for."
Cyrus's shoulders sank a little farther. "...You're terrible at making people feel better."
A quiet chuckle escaped Mikhail. "You know, you could've said all of that without sounding like you were reading a medical report."
I looked down at the untouched mug resting between my hands, my thumb absentmindedly tracing its rim.
"...Maybe."
The word came out quieter than I'd intended.
"I'd rather disappoint you now than lie to you today and watch you break tomorrow."
Neither of them answered. Cyrus kept staring at the coffee table, while Mikhail looked between the two of us as if searching for a way to glue the conversation back together.
"Well," Mikhail said at last, forcing a small grin, "on the bright side, if she ghosts him, at least he'll have a dramatic character development."
Cyrus let out a weak groan. "You're not helping."
I rubbed the back of my neck, suddenly finding the mug in my hands far more interesting than either of their faces. "Honestly, I don't even know why you two keep asking me about this."
Mikhail raised a brow. "Because you're the one who always has an answer."
I almost laughed at that.
The truth was, I wasn't qualified to give anyone relationship advice. I'd simply been rejected enough times to know what uncertainty could do to a person.
What wore me down was never hearing "no."
It was all the days before it, convincing myself there was still something left to hope for.
I'd been there before, and if there was one thing I'd learned from it, it was that false hope hurt far more than an honest answer ever could. Strangely enough, accepting that became easier than hoping otherwise.
I set the mug down and stood from the couch. "I'm heading back."
The two of them looked up as I reached for my bag.
"Cyrus."
"Yeah?"
"Don't forget my library card tomorrow."
For a second, the ordinary request felt strangely out of place after everything we'd just talked about.
A faint nod was all he managed. "...Right."
I slipped my shoes back on near the entrance and rested a hand on the doorknob. Just as I turned it—
"Rael."
I glanced back over my shoulder and Cyrus was already looking at me, but whatever he wanted to say seemed caught somewhere behind his lips.
"...If it doesn't work out..." His voice barely carried across the room. "...Then what?"
I stood there for a moment, my hand still on the doorknob.
"...Then accept it." I held his gaze for another moment before finishing the thought. "...And keep going."
"It'll hurt. It'll probably feel unfair. But staying where you are won't change what happened."
I pulled the door open. The cool night air from the apartment hallway slipped inside, carrying with it the distant hum of elevators and muted conversations from neighboring units.
I rubbed my hands together as I stepped into the hallway, surprised by how cold it felt. It wasn't even winter yet.
Funny.
Of all things, it had to remind me of that.
I almost let myself continue the thought. Almost.
For a while, I simply stood there, staring at the dimly lit corridor before making my way toward the elevator.
School's tomorrow. I figured I'd done enough thinking for one night.
***
Stellaris Global Academy. Tucked into the heart of Tokyo, dressed up like it had something to prove.
Stellaris, from stella, the Latin word for stars. A name that aimed upward, as if the academy believed proximity to the sky could justify its arrogance. It sounded elegant enough, like a name that invited you to admire it from a distance, while quietly reminding you that you were never meant to belong beneath it.
The moment I stepped through the front gates, my footsteps softened against spotless stone. Sunlight spilled across polished glass, scattering pale reflections that shifted every time someone walked past. A breeze wandered through the courtyard, stirring the cherry blossoms and imported maples planted with almost suspicious precision. Even the shadows seemed arranged, as though someone had decided exactly where the light ought to fall before the trees were ever planted.
I slowed without realizing it.
Everything looked... perfect. Too perfect.
Like the sort of place that existed because someone had spent years sketching it before deciding to build it.
...
No.
It felt like an anime.
Not because it was Japan.
Not because of the cherry blossoms lining the entrance.
But because everything around me looked just polished enough to make reality feel like it had been storyboarded first.
Then again, the fact that this was Japan certainly wasn't helping the stereotype.
I adjusted the strap of the brown denim backpack slipping from my shoulder before tugging at the front of my ash-blue coat. My glasses had already started sliding down my nose again.
I pushed them back into place, and I'd convinced myself they made me seem a little less closed off. Whether that actually worked was another question.
A passing reflection in one of the windows caught my attention.
Wavy hair.
An ordinary face.
Nothing about me stood out long enough to deserve a second glance.
Maybe that was easier than expecting otherwise.
If this were a show, I'd be the background character the protagonist walks past before the plot even begins.
Right.
A show.
I didn't realize I'd stopped walking until the chatter around the courtyard pulled me back. Somewhere between one step and the next, I'd stopped looking at the campus altogether. I was watching the people.
Students drifted past one another without hurry, conversations fading in and out as though the morning had already decided its pace. Someone laughed behind me. A pair of first-years hurried across the path, nearly bumping shoulders before awkwardly apologizing to each other. Near the garden, two girls bent over the same sketchbook, one trying—and failing—to hide her laughter as the other protested.
I caught myself watching longer than I'd meant to. There wasn't anything particularly remarkable about what they were doing. Nothing seemed to be building toward anything at all.
For a second, I almost expected a melody played by a piano to drift through the courtyard. Instead, the breeze filled the silence, stirring loose leaves across the stone path between students who paid them no mind.
All of them, they were just... living.
Somehow, that was what made everything feel unreal.
I caught the sharp click of a camera shutter behind me. Curious, I turned toward the sound.
A second shutter snapped, and this time, a flash met my eyes.
Standing a few steps behind, just off the courtyard path, Clement lowered his camera with the faintest grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. One leg of his tripod rested against the stone planter beside him, abandoned for the moment while the camera hung comfortably in his hands. His sleeves were rolled past his elbows, his student lanyard hanging crooked against his chest as though he'd forgotten to straighten it hours ago.
He glanced down at the screen. "...Not bad." I frowned, folding my arms as I walked over. "What isn't?"
"The model." He looked up without the slightest hint of a smile, delivering it with the same matter-of-fact expression he'd wear discussing the weather. "I've worked with worse."
"..."
I let out a short laugh through my nose. "...You're hilarious."
"I know."
He turned the camera around before I could protest.
The screen showed me halfway through turning around, one eye squinting against the flash, my mouth hanging slightly open as though I'd forgotten how to react. The wind had thrown my hair in every direction at once, somehow making me look both startled and mildly offended.
"Delete it."
"I was planning to."
The corner of his mouth finally gave in to a small smile as he tapped the screen with his thumb. "This was the one I wanted to show you."
The next photograph filled the display.
...
It was... better.
Soft morning light settled across the front of my coat, catching on the edges just enough to separate me from the crowd behind. I wasn't looking at the camera. My eyes were fixed somewhere beyond the courtyard, lost in whatever I'd been thinking about before the shutter interrupted me.
It didn't really look like me.
…
Or maybe it did, just from a distance I'd never bothered seeing before.
"I still don't like having my picture taken." I handed the camera back. "And taking pictures of people without asking first makes you look like a creep."
"...Fair." For the first time since we'd met, his confidence faltered just a little "I don't post them or anything," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "Most of them stay anonymous."
I looked at him for a moment before letting out a quiet sigh. "Good..."
It was a strange conversation to be having with someone I'd only known for three days. Then again...Clement was a strange person.
I handed the camera back before giving him a small nod. "...Thanks." With that, I turned and continued down the courtyard path. I'd barely made it a few steps before my pace slowed.
…
I stopped.
"...Clement."
"Hm?"
I looked back, rubbing the back of my neck as the question settled in a little later than my pride would've liked. "Sorry... do you remember where the library is?"
He blinked once before letting out a quiet sigh that sounded almost rehearsed. "It's in the main building," he said. "Second floor. Turn left after you see the Dean's Office near the central staircase.."
I nodded to myself. "...Right." I turned to leave again.
"...Or," he called after me. I stopped mid-step and glanced over my shoulder. "You could always look at the campus map."
I paused. "...There's a campus map?" For a long second, Clement simply stared at me, his expression caught somewhere between disbelief and genuine concern.
"...Rael."
"Yeah?"
"This is the fourth day."
"..."
"And you've somehow gone four days without noticing the giant campus map standing right beside the front gate?"
Instinctively, my eyes followed where he pointed. Sure enough, right where the courtyard opened toward the front gate—
There it was.
A map.
I stared at it for a moment before quietly admitting,
"...I thought that was a bulletin board."
Clement held my gaze for a long moment. Whatever response he'd been expecting, it clearly wasn't that.
Then, for the first time since we'd met, Clement laughed. It wasn't loud—just enough for his shoulders to shake as he lowered his head.
"You're unbelievable."
I could only scratch the back of my neck. "...In my defense..." I paused, searching for literally anything that might resemble a reasonable excuse.
"...I don't actually have one."
Clement covered his mouth as another laugh escaped him. He turned away for a moment, clearing his throat, only to cough into his fist when he tried to compose himself.
I decided I'd embarrassed myself enough for one morning.
Without another word, I turned and continued toward the main building, leaving him to recover on his own.
A few minutes later, after following Clement's directions—and deliberately pretending the campus map didn't exist—I found the library without much trouble.
I stepped through the glass doors. The scent of paper and polished wood drifted through the quiet room, carrying the same calm every library I'd ever visited seemed to possess. Only a handful of students had arrived this early, scattered between shelves or quietly flipping through books while the morning still lingered outside.
I made my way to the front desk, slowing to a stop as the librarian looked up from her work. She offered a polite smile before asking. "Library card, please."
I slipped a hand into my blazer pocket.
...
Nothing.
The other pocket.
Still nothing.
My backpack. Pens. A notebook. A crumpled receipt I'd forgotten to throw away.
But no library card.
...
Oh, right.
I never picked it up from Cyrus.
"..."
Ah.
Rael.
You're an idiot.
Heat crawled up my neck as I looked back at the librarian, who had patiently waited through my increasingly desperate search. "I'm... so sorry, Miss." The words felt embarrassingly small as they left my mouth, suddenly finding the floor far more interesting than meeting her gaze. "I forgot to bring it."
The librarian offered a polite, apologetic smile. "I see. Unfortunately, I can't let you enter without your library card."
"...Right."
"I'm really sorry."
I bowed a little deeper than necessary before turning away, wishing I could disappear into one of the bookshelves instead. Unfortunately, the bookshelves were on the other side of the desk.
By the time I stepped back outside, the digital clock on my phone read 7:40 a.m. My first class wasn't for another hour and twenty minutes.
Plenty of time... assuming I could find Cyrus and somehow make it back to the library before the bell without violating several laws of physics.
I frowned, unlocking my phone.
[ Bro, r u at campus rn? Really need my library card… ]
Seen? No. Delivered? Yes.
I slipped the phone back into my pocket with a quiet sigh, resisting the urge to check it again a second later. Of course he hadn't seen it yet.
I turned toward the campus map I'd only just discovered existed.
Nineteen buildings.
I stood there for a moment, tracing the layout with my eyes before letting out a quiet groan. "...You've got to be kidding."
Even if I knew which building his classroom was in—
Actually…
I didn't.
I rubbed my forehead, already feeling the headache forming.
Was he even on campus yet? There wasn't exactly a directory labeled 'Currently Existing Cyrus.'
With no better plan, I started walking, my eyes darting from building signs to passing students, hoping I'd spot him somewhere before the morning disappeared. Somewhere between searching the crowd and checking every sign I passed, I gradually stopped paying attention to the path beneath my feet.
It wasn't until the air grew quieter and the shade of the trees settled over the walkway that I realized I'd wandered into the garden.
Before I could turn back, something brushed softly against my face. I reached up with a quiet groan and pulled the maple leaf away from my face.
As I lowered my hand, my eyes drifted ahead.
Then I saw—
A girl standing beneath the maple tree.
For a brief moment, I couldn't tell whether she'd been standing there all along or if I'd simply failed to notice her until now.
Almost absentmindedly, I found myself taking another step into the garden.
The breeze stirred, setting the branches overhead into a soft rustle. A few loose maple leaves drifted lazily through the air, some catching on the path, others tumbling past her without so much as a glance from the students walking nearby.
Long strands of pinkish-brown hair swayed beneath a pale bucket hat, shifting gently with the wind. Her fair skin caught the morning light, and her eyes—somewhere between fresh green and quiet amber—followed the slow descent of each maple leaf. Behind her back, both hands were loosely clasped around a small handful of maple leaves she'd already gathered.
There was a quiet smile on her face.
She wasn't posing.
She wasn't doing anything remarkable.
Just watching the leaves fall.
...
Serena Hanamori.
Right, she was from my class.
I should've looked away and continued searching, but instead, I found myself watching for another second.
A maple leaf had caught her attention on a nearby bench. She seemed to politely excuse herself to the student sitting there before reaching over to pick it up, adding it to the small handful hidden behind her back.
And then—
She looked up.
Our eyes met.
...
She was looking at me.
I glanced over my shoulder. There wasn't anyone else behind me.
Nobody.
My posture straightened almost on its own. But before I could make sense of it, I lowered my gaze.
Footsteps. Steady. Getting closer.
My shoulder stiffened. They didn't stop.
For some reason, I couldn't bring myself to look up.
What was I supposed to do? Wave? Say hi? Pretend I hadn't been staring at her a few seconds ago?
"Um…"
A light tap landed against my shoulder. I turned to find her closer than I'd expected.
The pale bucket hat shaded part of her face, though it couldn't hide the gentle smile that greeted me. Up close, the faint green and amber in her eyes stood out even more.
"Oh..." She tilted her head ever so slightly. "Rael, right?"
The words took a moment to register. "...You know my name?"
"Of course." A light laugh escaped her almost immediately, as if the question itself had caught her by surprise. "Your introduction was pretty memorable!"
Heat climbed to my face before I could stop it, and I could only let out a quiet sigh.
"...I'd rather not be remembered for that."
She laughed again, softer this time.
"Sorry." She lifted one hand in front of her chest, fingers pressed neatly together in a small apologetic gesture before pointing toward mine "Actually... I wanted to ask if I could have the leaf you're holding."
I looked down.
...
Right, the maple leaf.
I'd been holding it the entire time.
"Oh." Feeling suddenly embarrassed for reasons I couldn't quite explain, I held it out to her without another word.
Her face brightened, and the smile she'd been wearing widened just enough to reach her eyes.
"Thank you!"
She accepted it with both hands, as though it were something far more valuable than a fallen leaf.
"I've been collecting these all morning."
That explained... a lot.
"You're welcome," I managed.
She carefully slipped the leaf into the small handful she'd been collecting before turning to head back toward the maple tree.
After a few steps, she suddenly paused. Looking back over her shoulder, her eyes curved gently as she beamed at me.
"Well... I'll see you in class, okay?"
Before I could think of a reply, she had already turned away again, the small bundle of maple leaves disappearing behind her back as she wandered beneath the trees.
I stood there a moment longer, watching her go.
...
I was supposed to be looking for Cyrus.
With a quiet sigh, I adjusted my backpack and continued through the campus, following the paths between buildings while scanning the passing faces. Every now and then, I'd stop to check another hallway or glance into a classroom through its open door, only to find another group of students I didn't recognize.
So much for "plenty of time."
The campus suddenly felt much larger than it had looked on the map.
As I rounded another corner, a blur of movement caught the edge of my vision.
A girl hurried past, nearly breaking into a run as she disappeared into one of the narrow walkways between two buildings. She kept glancing over her shoulder, clutching the strap of her bag so tightly her knuckles had turned pale.
I slowed, watching the direction she'd gone until she vanished from sight.
She looked... worried.
Weird, none of my business anyway.
…
I took another step.
Then another.
...
My curiosity won.
Before I knew it, I was already making my way into the narrow alley, the sounds of the campus fading behind me. But just as I started, my phone buzzed inside my pocket.
It's Cyrus, I answered almost immediately.
I felt some of the tension leave my shoulders. Maybe getting that library card wouldn't be as impossible as I'd convinced myself it was—
"...I talked to her."
A weak laugh came from the other end, my steps came into an unconscious halt.
"...We talked."
His voice sounded strangely calm, too calm.
"What happened?" For a while, all I could hear was the breeze. Something about the morning shifted—so quietly I almost missed it.
"...She said she doesn't want to give me hope anymore."
I closed my eyes, and my head lowered facing the pavement.
"...It's over, isn't it?"
I didn't wait for an answer. I already knew.
"...Yeah." The single word barely made it through the phone. I looked up. The sky was still as clear as it had been an hour ago.
"...That's your answer."
"I guess it is."
Neither of us spoke, it's long enough that I wondered if the call had ended.
"...I've got your library card." I pinched the bridge of my nose. "...Now's the part you remembered that?" He ignored the question as though he hadn't heard it.
"Don't worry."
"I kept it. It's still here... your library card."
The lines went quieter.
"...Of course it's still here."
"...I always take care of the things people leave with me."
Something about the way he repeated it made my chest feel unexpectedly heavy. He wasn't talking about the card anymore.
"I'm at Don Vernal Hall. Just... come find me when you can."
"...Thanks."
The call ended.
I stared at my phone for another second before slipping it back into my pocket.
For a moment, the campus settled into its usual rhythm again. Conversations drifted between buildings, leaves rustled overhead, and somewhere in the distance, a bell chimed the quarter hour.
Then something slammed against the wall inside the alley. The sound was followed almost immediately by raised voices. My head turned before I could stop it.
A man's voice rang out first, trembling more with hurt than anger.
"Best friends? Is this what best friends are supposed to do?"
Another answered without missing a beat.
"We were just talking!"
"Talking?" The first scoffed. "I saw you with her yesterday. Holding her hand, wiping her tears... then telling me not to overthink it?"
"I was trying to calm her down!"
"You could've told me!"
"I tried!"
"Tried?" A bitter laugh escaped him. "After all this time?"
"You were my best friend."
"If anyone was going to stab me in the back..."
"...I never thought it'd be you."
Before the other could answer, another voice slipped between them, almost swallowed by the shouting.
The same girl I'd seen hurry into the alley.
She sounded like she'd already said the same thing more than once.
"Stop!"
"Please, both of you..."
"This isn't anyone's fault."
"I was the one who asked him to stay."
Neither of them seemed to hear her.
"See?" the first snapped. "She's defending you now."
"I'm not letting you twist her words!" Another shove.
Shoes scraped hard against the pavement before someone stumbled into the wall with a dull thud.
"Please!" The girl's plea broke through the shouting. This time, it sounded closer.
"I don't want either of you to hate each other because of me!"
The alley dissolved into overlapping voices. I stood where I was, my fingers tightening around the strap of my backpack.
My foot shifted forward...
...then stopped.
Whatever had happened between the three of them had started long before I'd wandered anywhere near this place. I didn't know any of them. And I wasn't about to pretend I understood enough to step in.
So I turned away...
...and kept walking.
I let out a slow sigh as I walked away from the alley. People really had a way of making things more complicated than they needed to be. I wasn't sure whether it was because they wanted to, or because they simply didn't realize they were doing it. Either way, I didn't envy any of them.
As I continued down the path, an old question quietly returned to me
….
Why are there seasons?
Not why they happened. Anyone could explain that. The Earth's orbit. The tilt of its axis. Those were just answers.
What I wanted to know was why the world worked that way in the first place.
Why couldn't spring simply remain spring? Why did warmth always have to give way to heat, and why did autumn always arrive after it? If everything was destined to change eventually, what was the point of letting people grow attached to any of it?
Maybe people weren't all that different.
No one woke up one morning as somebody else. Feelings didn't vanish after a single conversation, and friendships didn't collapse because of one mistake. Things shifted so gradually that they often escaped notice altogether. By the time someone realized what had changed, it had already been changing for much longer than they thought.
That was probably the cruelest part.
Not that people changed, but that they almost never noticed it while it was happening.
Cyrus probably hadn't expected a conversation to end the way it did.
Neither had the voices from the alley.
Somewhere along the way, something had drifted just far enough that it couldn't find its way back again, and maybe none of them had realized how far until it was already too late.
I remembered thinking, just this morning, that everything around me looked almost storyboarded. Like one of those scenes where the timing always seemed too perfect to be real.
Maybe that was why I'd never been able to believe the stories people liked to tell.
Real feelings didn't arrive with perfect timing. They didn't begin with a single moment, and they rarely ended with one either. More often than not, they changed quietly, little by little, until one day the person standing in front of you felt unfamiliar, even though they'd been changing all along.
I guess... maybe that's just how seasons worked.
Close for a while, then drifting, then gone.
…
8:30AM
With everything that had happened, I could've sworn it was already nine.
***