The afternoon sun filtered through the windows of the art room, casting long golden shadows across the floor. Takashi sat at his usual table, elbows resting on the wooden surface, sketchpad open before him but untouched. His pencil remained still in his hand, as if it had forgotten how to move.
Outside, laughter from the festival committee echoed faintly. Somewhere in the courtyard, students were rehearsing a skit. Others painted banners or constructed stage props. It was the kind of vibrant, noisy chaos that usually made the school feel alive.
But inside Takashi, everything felt muted.
"There you are."
The familiar voice snapped him from his daze. He looked up to see Yuuji, his closest friend since middle school, standing at the doorway, one hand stuffed in his pocket, the other holding two cans of iced coffee.
"You skipped lunch. Again."
Takashi gave a faint smile but said nothing.
Yuuji walked in and tossed one of the cans onto the table in front of him. It landed with a soft thud.
"I had to bribe one of the girls from Class B to tell me where you were hiding. She said you looked like you were thinking about jumping into a painting and never coming back."
"Sounds peaceful," Takashi muttered.
Yuuji pulled up a chair and sat down across from him. He cracked open his can, took a sip, and studied his friend.
A moment passed. Then another.
"Okay," Yuuji said, leaning back, "I tried being casual. Now I'm just gonna ask it. Why do you look so damn sad?"
Takashi didn't answer.
Yuuji gave him a look. "You've been acting weird for weeks. And don't give me the 'I'm just focusing on school' excuse. That might work on the teachers, but not on me."
Takashi looked down at his hands. The skin around his knuckles was dry, rubbed raw from anxious fidgeting. He hadn't noticed.
"I don't know how to talk about it," he said at last.
"Try."
A beat of silence.
Then:
"It's Sensei."
Yuuji blinked. "Ayane-sensei?"
Takashi nodded, still not meeting his eyes.
"You like her."
It wasn't a question.
Takashi hesitated, then nodded again.
Yuuji exhaled slowly. "Okay. That... explains a lot."
Takashi's voice was quiet. "I told her. Kind of. Not directly, but she knew. And after that, everything changed. She transferred out of our homeroom. She doesn't talk to me anymore. I hardly even see her. It's like I don't exist."
Yuuji took another sip of coffee, watching him. "That's rough. But I guess I understand her side too. She's a teacher. There's a lot at stake."
"I know."
"Still hurts, huh?"
Takashi gave a bitter chuckle. "It's not just that she stepped back. It's how it all felt so real before. Like... we had something unspoken. Like we understood each other."
"You did," Yuuji said simply. "Maybe you still do."
"Then why does she act like I'm just another student now?"
Yuuji leaned forward. "Because it's easier than facing something she can't have."
Takashi looked up.
"I don't know how to stop feeling this way," he admitted. "I thought the distance would help. But it just made everything worse."
"Yeah," Yuuji said quietly. "That's how it works sometimes. You push someone away because it's right, and it still ends up hurting like hell."
The room fell into a thoughtful silence.
Takashi reached for his coffee, cracked it open, and took a sip. It was colder than he liked, but he welcomed the sharp taste.
"She made the right choice," he said finally.
"Maybe," Yuuji said. "But that doesn't mean you have to stop being human."
Takashi laughed softly. "I don't think I've felt human in weeks."
Yuuji gave him a faint smile. "Then let's fix that."
"How?"
Yuuji stood up and stretched. "Start by not hiding in this room all day. Come to the courtyard. Help paint something. Be around people. You're not gonna move on by sitting here waiting for a ghost."
Takashi hesitated.
"She might be there."
"And if she is, then you nod politely and keep painting. You don't have to forget. Just... learn how to carry it."
Takashi stared at his sketchpad. Then, slowly, he closed it and tucked it into his bag.
"Okay."
"Okay?"
He nodded.
Yuuji clapped a hand on his shoulder. "We'll start small. Come on, I think Class C is building a float shaped like a giant koi fish. We can totally make that ridiculous."
Takashi smiled for the first time in days.
---
That afternoon, Mizuki stood near the staff table in the courtyard, clipboard in hand, overseeing the club booths. She was scanning the perimeter when she saw Takashi, brush in hand, painting scales onto the side of a papier-mâché fish.
He was laughing.
Beside him, Yuuji grinned and tossed a sponge at another classmate.
The sight startled her.
She looked away quickly, her heartbeat unsteady.
And yet, some part of her heart ached with quiet relief.
He was healing.
She turned back to her clipboard, jaw clenched.
Some wounds, she realized, didn't close with time. They simply changed shape.
And sometimes, it took someone else—a friend, a laugh, a moment in the sun—to remind you that you still had pieces left to gather.
---
Later that evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, Takashi sat by the koi float, brush in hand, surrounded by laughter and light.
He looked up at the sky.
"Thanks, Yuuji," he said.
"What for?"
"For asking."
Yuuji smiled.
"Anytime, man. You're not alone, even when it feels like it. Don't ever forget that."
And in that moment, beneath a sky tinged with orange and lavender, Takashi felt something shift.
Not a resolution.
But a beginning.
The beginning of something softer than sadness.
And just maybe, the path forward.