By the time they left the school, the sun had dipped low, painting the sky in bruised shades of purple and orange. The courtyard was mostly empty now, the chatter of students gone, leaving only the sound of cicadas buzzing in the trees.
She walked slowly, clutching the strap of her bag like a shield. Kai walked beside her, hands shoved deep in his pockets, his usual confidence muted. For once, he wasn't the boy everyone stared at. He was just… Kai. Quiet. Uneasy. Human.
They didn't speak at first. But the silence between them wasn't crushing this time. It felt tentative, like both of them were afraid words might ruin something fragile hanging in the air.
Finally, she whispered, "You really scared yourself back there."
Kai's jaw tensed. "Yeah," he muttered. "I did."
She hesitated, then asked softly, "Why?"
He stopped walking, staring down at the cracked pavement as if the answer might be there. His black hair fell into his eyes, shadowing them. "Because I promised myself I wouldn't lose control again."
Again.
The word lodged itself in her chest. She wanted to ask—what happened, what did you do, what did you go through?—but the way his shoulders stiffened told her not to push. Not yet.
So instead, she said, "I don't think… holding my hand counts as losing control."
He let out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. "You don't know me."
"No," she admitted quietly, surprising herself. "But maybe I want to."
That made him look at her. Really look. His dark eyes were searching, uncertain, like he couldn't decide if she was serious or if this was just another mask. But when she didn't look away, when she held his gaze with all the shaky courage she had, something in his expression softened.
"You're not like them," he said finally, voice low. "You're not pretending with me."
She almost laughed at the irony. "I've been pretending my whole life."
"Not right now," he countered. His voice was firm, certain. "Right now, you're real."
Her chest tightened, a sting rising behind her eyes. She turned her face away quickly, afraid he'd see too much.
And yet… for the first time, she didn't feel ashamed of being seen.
They stood there in the quiet, neither of them moving, the world around them fading into the background.
And for a brief, fleeting moment, she let herself believe that maybe—just maybe—they didn't have to keep pretending.