The last day of the exhibition ended not with applause, but with a quiet that stretched across the school gym like the echo of something sacred. The noise had drained from the walls. Gone were the clapping visitors, the curious peers, the teachers pacing through booths with tired smiles and notepads. Even the lights felt dimmer -- as though the whole room had exhaled and collapsed into stillness.
Maya stood in the corner of their booth, her hands resting on the edge of the display table. Most of the stands had already been stripped of their decorations. Banners hung half-unhooked, curling at the corners. Foldable chairs were stacked to the side, and canvases leaned tiredly against the wall, waiting to be carried away like memories too big to store.
She should've been glad it was over. She wasn't.
A soft shuffle made her glance sideways.
Damien was crouched beside his easel, unscrewing one of the bolts with steady fingers. He hadn't said much all day -- not that he ever did -- but there was a difference. The quiet around him wasn't the usual cold barrier. Today, it felt... calm. Almost comforting. Maya hadn't realized how used to his presence she'd become until now.
A gust of air from the high windows ruffled the tarp behind them. Her hand moved instinctively to catch the edge of a sketch that nearly blew away.
"Careful," Damien said without looking up.
She pressed the paper flat. "I feel like the wind's trying to erase all our effort."
"It can't," he said, tightening another bolt. "You're not that easy to erase."
She blinked.
It wasn't like him to say things like that -- soft, meaningful things that almost made her heart skip. She looked at him more closely. He didn't meet her eyes. He was just focused on his easel, lips pressed together like he hadn't even realized what he'd said.
She bent down to help him unscrew the last piece, fingers brushing his lightly. He didn't pull away. The contact was brief, but something about it stayed.
Her voice felt caught in her throat when she finally said, "You'll miss this?"
Damien shrugged, still looking at the easel. "Not the exhibition. But the days leading to it. The work. The quiet."
She nodded. "Yeah… the quiet."
A pause.
Then he looked up. "And maybe the way you kept misplacing your brushes."
She gave him a dry look. "I didn't misplace them. They were just… adventuring."
That time, he actually smiled. Not fully. Just one side of his mouth lifting like he didn't know how to do it all the way. But it was real, and warm, and it made her chest flutter.
She stood slowly, brushing dust off her skirt. Her eyes scanned the gym. Logan wasn't anywhere in sight -- thankfully. The last thing she needed was to feel his stare again. These past few days, it felt like he was always watching. Hovering like something unresolved. She still hadn't figured out what he wanted from her anymore. Not after everything he'd done.
"You hungry?" Damien asked, quietly.
She shook her head. "Too tired to eat."
He didn't press. He just nodded, then lifted his box of materials and turned toward the other end of the gym where the storage room waited.
"I'll help," she said, grabbing the smaller one.
They walked side by side, steps echoing against the wooden floor. The gym that had once buzzed with voices was now almost hollow. Maya's shoes squeaked faintly. Somewhere near the doors, someone laughed -- but the sound was distant, fading.
Halfway to the storage room, she felt a weight settle on her skin.
She glanced behind.
Logan.
Standing by the bleachers, leaning against the rail, arms crossed, eyes fixed. His face unreadable.
Her stomach tightened.
Damien noticed her slow pace and turned. Then he saw him too. No words were exchanged. No expressions shifted. But Maya felt it -- the sudden silence that grew heavy between the three of them. A triangle of tension, quiet but charged.
Damien didn't react. He just turned back toward the storage room.
But Maya couldn't ignore the way Logan's stare followed her. Like she owed him something. Like he still believed she belonged to him.
Her jaw tightened.
Inside the storage room, the air was cooler. The lights flickered slightly, and it smelled faintly of old paint and sawdust. Damien set his box down in the corner. She placed hers beside it, then leaned against the wall.
The silence here wasn't awkward. It just was.
"I saw him," Damien said after a moment, not looking at her.
"I know."
He was standing close -- closer than before. His hand rested on the edge of the box like he was trying not to clench it. She watched him from the side. His jaw had tensed. Just a little.
"You don't have to say anything," she murmured. "Nothing's going on. Not anymore."
His head tilted slightly, eyes shifting to her. "Does it still bother you?"
She wanted to lie. It would've been easier. But honesty felt safer with him.
"Sometimes," she admitted. "He has this way of making you feel seen and invisible at the same time."
Damien's gaze lingered on her face, as if he was reading more than her words.
"You're not invisible," he said simply.
It wasn't flattery. It wasn't a line.
It was truth.
And it made something inside her ache.
She swallowed. "Why do you always say things like that?"
He frowned. "Like what?"
"Things that… matter. When no one else is looking."
His brows knit faintly, but he didn't answer. Instead, he took a step forward. Not too close. Just close enough that she could feel the weight of his nearness. Her breath caught.
"You ever notice," she whispered, "how quiet gets louder when it's just two people?"
His voice was soft. "Only when one of them matters."
Maya stared at him.
The moment stretched. Full. Wordless.
He didn't reach for her. He didn't try anything. But somehow, it felt like she was already in his arms -- because she was safe here. Heard. Real.
And when they finally stepped out of the storage room, side by side again, something had shifted.
It wasn't love. Not yet.
But it was the beginning of something that made her heart ache in a way she didn't want to stop.
From across the gym, Logan watched them emerge.
He didn't speak.
But his silence said everything.