The week moved like a blur, each class, each lunch break, each glance across the room carrying a weight Hayato couldn't shake.
Every time Aiko smiled at him, every time she lingered a moment longer in the stairwell, he felt the words pressing at his lips. Words he had scribbled in poems, erased in margins, whispered to the night when no one was listening.
But never to her.
Not yet.
Friday afternoon, the sky turned the color of fading gold. Clubs had ended, and the school was nearly empty. Aiko stood by the classroom window, her hair catching the last light.
Hayato's hands clenched at his sides. He couldn't wait any longer.
"Aiko," he said, his voice steadier than he felt.
She turned, her expression calm, curious. "Hm?"
His throat tightened, but he forced the words forward. "There's something I've been wanting to tell you."
Her eyes softened slightly, as if she already knew.
He opened his mouth—and then a sound split the silence.
Click.
The classroom door slid open.
Two classmates peeked in, their grins mischievous. "Oi, we knew it! You two are always sneaking off together."
Aiko froze. Hayato's heart sank.
"We're heading to the west stairwell," one of them added, wagging his brows. "Bet you two were already there, huh?"
The second boy laughed. "Careful, or the ghosts will whisper your names too."
Before Hayato could respond, they were gone, their footsteps fading into the corridor.
Aiko glanced at him, her cheeks tinged pink.
Hayato's courage wavered. The moment had slipped through his fingers.
But then—
A faint echo rolled through the hall. Not the boys' laughter, not the creak of old wood.
A whisper.
"…Stay…"
The sound bled under the door, seeping into the room like a breath no one had taken.
Aiko's eyes widened. Hayato felt his skin prickle.
The boys weren't alone in the stairwell anymore.
For a heartbeat, neither of them moved. Then Hayato grabbed his bag. "Come on."
This wasn't about confessions anymore. It wasn't about his heart, or hers.
Someone had gone too far, and the stairwell had answered.