The graduation ceremony was supposed to be quiet.
A few speeches. Some claps. A tear or two from the homeroom teacher. The kind of event you endure, not remember.
But Saanvi should've known.
Nothing about this final week had been normal. And this—the end of everything, the closing page of a chapter she never knew she was writing—wasn't going to follow the rules either.
She stood near the back of the gymnasium, tucked in a pocket of shadow just beside the emergency exit, half-hidden behind a line of standing banners decorated with glitter and hand-drawn mascots.
The air buzzed with murmurs and phone screens. Students shuffled in their seats, fanning themselves with their graduation programs. Teachers sat in neat rows, smiles tired but warm. On the stage, the vice principal droned on about excellence and legacy and dreams taking flight.
Saanvi barely heard a word.
Her hands were curled tight around the hem of her navy blazer—the same uniform she'd once despised. Too stiff. Too formal. Too "not her." But today, for some reason, it felt heavy with meaning. Like a second skin she was about to shed forever.
She hadn't seen Jisoo all morning.
She hadn't seen much of him at all since… that day.
After the rooftop.
After the fight.
After she'd walked away—too proud, too angry, too heartbroken to admit how much she still cared.
She'd almost messaged him a dozen times. Maybe more. Each time, her fingers would hover over her screen. A few words typed. Then deleted. Then typed again.
But she couldn't send them.
Because what could she even say?
"I'm sorry."
"I miss you."
"I remember too."
None of it felt big enough to carry the weight she'd been dragging around in her chest.
He hadn't messaged either.
She assumed that was his answer.
So she told herself: That's it. This was the end. Some stories are just… chapters. Not books. And maybe they would part with no real goodbye, just a scar that fades into a lesson over time.
She was still telling herself that when the speakers shrieked with static.
—EEEEKKKCH—
The entire gym flinched. Someone dropped a water bottle. A few students covered their ears.
Saanvi's head jerked up.
A loud electric buzz echoed overhead, cutting through the principal's closing remarks like a thunderclap.
Then:
"Um…"
"This is… uh… not part of the program. Sorry, Principal-nim."
The voice was shaky. Low. Familiar.
Saanvi's heart stopped.
"This is Jisoo. 3-B. Yeah… the guy who never talks."
Gasps exploded like firecrackers across the gym.
"Wait, is that—?"
"Oh my god."
"Is that the silent guy? From the back row?"
Saanvi blinked. Frozen.
The air around her cracked like glass, and she felt herself falling into the echo of his voice.
"There's someone I need to talk to. In front of everyone."
"She transferred here from Busan."
"She stands near the window in class. Sometimes she mumbles in Tamil when she's mad. She's better at skateboarding now."
"Her name is Saanvi."
Every head turned.
Dozens of eyes. Maybe hundreds.
All of them on her.
The space between her ribs compressed. Her breath caught somewhere in her throat. Her fingertips went numb.
"She makes the wind louder. The stairs brighter. And when I forgot everything… she reminded me."
For a moment, no one spoke.
The gym fell into a hush so absolute, Saanvi could hear the hum of the projector, the rustle of someone's program falling to the floor.
The speaker buzzed again.
"So, I'm on the rooftop. With a mic. Because I'm stupid."
"But if you're still here… and if you still remember…"
"Skate toward me."
It was like someone flipped a switch inside her chest.
She didn't hesitate.
Didn't blink.
Didn't think.
Saanvi dropped her blazer on the gym floor and ran.
She bolted through the crowd, her flats slapping hard against the varnished wood. Students stumbled out of her way, whispering her name. Some reached for their phones. Others gasped and pointed.
But she didn't care.
She burst through the side door and into the sunlit courtyard, lungs burning, hair flying. Her bag slipped from her shoulder and hit the ground, but she didn't stop.
The wind tugged at her, almost cheering.
Up the stairs.
Past the lockers.
Past the art room where they'd once hidden during lunch, painting cherry blossoms on a broken desk.
She reached the rooftop door and shoved it open—
The world spilled wide.
Blue sky.
Windswept clouds.
And there he was.
Jisoo.
Standing at the edge of the rooftop with a microphone in one hand, his skateboard at his feet, and that same stupid hoodie tied around his waist. His eyes—dark, focused, impossibly gentle—locked on her like nothing else existed.
"You remembered," he whispered.
Saanvi doubled over, panting. "You used a mic."
He scratched the back of his neck. "Had to say it loud this time."
Then, from his pocket, he pulled something.
A silver chain.
From it hung a tiny plastic cherry blossom. Cheap. Faded. But instantly familiar.
She gasped.
"That's—"
"You dropped it under the sakura tree. In Busan. The day we met."
Her lips parted.
"I didn't think you noticed."
"I didn't notice a lot of things," he said softly. "But I noticed you."
She reached out, trembling slightly. But instead of placing it in her palm, Jisoo stepped forward and reached behind her neck.
Gently.
Carefully.
He clasped it on.
The chain settled against her collarbone like a promise.
Saanvi's eyes stung. Her chest ached in that way that only happens when something breaks and heals at the same time.
"This is my answer," he said. "So don't leave again. Or if you do… take me with you."
She didn't reply with words.
She stepped into him.
Wrapped her arms around his waist.
Hugged him like she was terrified to let go.
Behind them, the rooftop door slammed open. Students spilled out in waves, shouting, laughing, cheering.
Phones went up. Photos snapped.
Even the principal stood near the entrance, hands on his hips, a weary smile tugging at his lips.
"Those two," someone murmured. "They're seriously like a drama ending."
Jisoo leaned in and whispered into her ear.
"Ready?"
Saanvi blinked up at him. "For what?"
Bzzzzt.
Her phone vibrated.
So did his.
They both pulled them out at the same time.
On the screen—
____________•••____________
One Plus Notification.
You are now invited.
One Plus for two. One Place. One Memory. Come.
____________•••____________
A GPS pin pulsed. Soft blue light. A location neither of them recognized.
They glanced at each other.
A beat passed.
Then two.
The rooftop wind swept around them, carrying with it the scent of summer and something strange. Something other.
They looked back at the screen.
The GPS flickered.
The world shifted.
Just slightly.
Like a heartbeat skipped.
And then—
The wind whispered, not loud, not urgent.
But clear.
"It's not over yet."