The first week with Kai in class passed in a blur.
Eli tried his best to ignore him—to pretend he wasn't aware of the way Kai's presence filled the space beside him. But somehow, Kai was always there.
It started small.
In the library, Eli crouched low between shelves, searching for a history reference book. When he reached for the spine, another hand brushed against his own.
He looked up. Kai was standing there, the same book in hand, his expression unreadable.
"Sorry," Eli muttered, pulling back quickly.
But Kai only tilted his head, as though he found the moment oddly familiar. "You like history too?"
Eli's throat went dry. He nodded once, muttered an excuse, and left—heart pounding as if chased.
The next day, it was the rain.
Eli forgot his umbrella. He stood under the school gates, frowning at the curtain of water pouring down. Then, a shadow stretched across him.
He turned. Kai stood there, holding an umbrella.
"Here," Kai said simply, tilting it so that the rain no longer touched him.
Eli blinked, uncertain. "You don't have to—"
"I want to."
There was no hesitation in Kai's voice. No expectation either. Just quiet certainty, like he had stood in the rain with Eli many times before.
And then, in the garden behind the gym, Eli had gone there to sketch alone. Yet somehow Kai found him again, leaning against the old bench with a faint smile.
"You're always here," Eli whispered before he could stop himself.
Kai's gaze softened. "I could say the same about you."
Eli froze. The words sparked something inside him—an echo of laughter, sunlight, and a hand brushing against his own in another lifetime.
He pushed the thought away, snapping his notebook shut. "I should go."
But as he walked off, he felt Kai's eyes following him, steady and unshakable, as if they were bound by a thread neither of them could cut.
---