The festival had ended, but its echoes still lingered in Aika's mind.
The warmth of the lanterns, the taste of sweet taiyaki, the laughter she had shared with Riku—all of it felt like a distant dream now. But more than anything, it was his words that clung to her.
"I wish this moment could last forever."
"It does."
Why had he said it like that?
Why did it feel like he was saying goodbye?
She didn't want to admit it, but a quiet dread had begun to settle in her chest. It was subtle, like a faint whisper in the wind, but it was there.
---
Morning Light and Restless Thoughts
Aika sat by her bedroom window, staring out at the overcast sky. The festival's energy had faded, replaced by the stillness of an early autumn morning. She had barely slept.
She replayed the night in her mind, searching for something—anything—that would ease her unease. But no matter how much she thought about it, she kept coming back to the same feeling.
Something wasn't right.
There had been moments before—small, fleeting things. The way Riku sometimes looked at her like he was memorizing her face. The exhaustion he brushed off too easily. The way he had suddenly wanted to attend the festival, as if time was slipping through his fingers.
She had ignored it.
Or rather, she had convinced herself it didn't mean anything.
But now…
She exhaled, resting her forehead against the windowpane.
Maybe she was overthinking it.
Maybe—
Her phone buzzed.
Riku.
Riku: Meet me at the art room after school.
Aika stared at the message, her grip tightening around her phone.
She didn't know why, but her heart started beating faster.
---
The Art Room – Riku's Artistic Disaster
The soft scent of paint and old sketchbooks filled the air as Aika pushed open the art room door. The late afternoon sun filtered through the windows, casting long shadows across the floor.
Riku was already there, sitting at one of the tables, his fingers idly tapping against his sketchpad.
"You're late," he teased without looking up.
"You didn't give me a time," Aika shot back, closing the door behind her.
He chuckled. "Fair enough."
She walked over, expecting to see one of her paintings on the easel—but instead, she noticed a sketchbook in front of him.
Riku quickly flipped the page when he saw her looking.
Aika narrowed her eyes. "What was that?"
"Nothing," he said, a little too quickly.
That only made her more suspicious. She reached forward, but Riku leaned back, holding the sketchpad out of reach.
Aika smirked. "You do realize I'm faster than you, right?"
"You wouldn't dare," Riku said, narrowing his eyes.
She lunged.
"Oi—!"
Riku tried to dodge, but Aika easily snatched the sketchpad from his hands. She took one look at the page and immediately burst out laughing.
"What… what is this?" she choked between laughs.
Riku groaned, burying his face in his hands. "Don't look at it."
Aika could barely breathe. The sketch in front of her was supposed to be a portrait—probably of her, judging by the hair—but it was terrible. The proportions were all wrong, the eyes were uneven, and for some reason, it looked like her nose had been stolen from a completely different face.
"This is so bad," she wheezed. "It looks like a cursed puppet."
Riku glared at her. "Okay, first of all, rude."
"You play the guitar and piano, not draw!" she continued, wiping tears from the corner of her eyes. "What made you think you could just—"
"I thought I'd try," Riku muttered. "Clearly, it was a mistake."
Aika snorted. "A huge mistake."
Riku scowled. "Alright, fine. Laugh it up."
She grinned, flipping through the pages. Every single sketch was a disaster—misshapen figures, weird shading, awkward hands. It was like Riku had never held a pencil in his life.
"You know," she said, still grinning, "for someone who's good at music, you have zero sense of proportion."
"I can hear proportions," Riku muttered. "I don't need to see them."
Aika chuckled, flipping back to the original drawing. Despite how awful it was, there was something oddly sincere about it. He had actually tried.
That thought made her chest tighten a little.
"…Why did you even draw this?" she asked.
Riku hesitated. Then, he sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I just… I wanted to see if I could capture something."
Aika blinked. "Capture what?"
He shrugged. "I don't know. A moment, I guess."
She stared at him.
That familiar, nagging feeling returned.
She wanted to push—wanted to ask what he really meant—but instead, she looked back at the sketch.
It was terrible.
But it was his.
And somehow, that made it kind of special.
"…Alright," Aika said, setting the sketchpad down. "I'll teach you."
Riku raised an eyebrow. "What?"
"I'll teach you how to draw."
He scoffed. "I think I'm a lost cause."
"You are a lost cause, but I'll still try."
Riku chuckled, shaking his head. "Fine. But if I magically become a famous artist, I'm taking full credit."
Aika smirked. "Deal."
And just like that, the tension in her chest eased—if only for a little while.