The day passed slower than usual. Every tick of the clock seemed to echo inside Hayato's head, reminding him of two things: the poem, and Aiko's words about the stairwell.
By the time the final bell rang, the tension inside him had become unbearable.
Most students hurried out, their laughter trailing behind them as the classroom emptied. Aiko, however, stayed behind. She leaned casually against Hayato's desk, holding something in her hands.
His notebook.
Hayato's breath caught.
"I think this belongs to you," she said, her tone light, though her eyes betrayed a quiet curiosity.
He reached for it quickly. "You shouldn't have—"
"I didn't read everything," she interrupted, smiling softly. "But I saw… one page."
Hayato froze. The poem.
Heat rushed to his face, and he quickly averted his gaze. "It's nothing. Just… practice. Words."
Aiko tilted her head, her gaze gentle but searching. "It didn't feel like just words, Hayato."
Her voice was softer now, the teasing gone. She looked at the notebook, tracing its edge with her finger. "It felt… lonely. But warm, too. Like someone trying to reach out but afraid to be heard."
Hayato's chest tightened. He wanted to tell her that every word had been for her, that each line carried the weight of feelings he couldn't voice aloud. But instead, he forced out a weak laugh.
"You're overthinking it. Really."
For a moment, silence filled the space between them. Only the faint shouts of a sports club echoed from outside the window.
Then Aiko smiled, closing the notebook and handing it back. "Maybe. Or maybe you're just not ready to admit it yet."
Her words lingered, as light as a whisper, but heavy enough to leave Hayato speechless.
She turned toward the door, her hair swaying with each step. "Don't forget," she called without looking back. "We're checking the west stairwell today."
Hayato clutched the notebook to his chest, heart pounding.The poem had been read. His secret was no longer entirely his own.
And as he followed Aiko out of the classroom, one thought refused to leave his mind—Maybe the stairwell wasn't the only place where whispers carried weight.