The next day…
The canteen buzzes with the usual midday uproar—laughter, clattering trays, voices rising and crashing like waves. Someone slips, a juice box explodes, and a nearby table howls in theatrical outrage. Gio sits alone in the farthest corner, his back pressed to the cold wall, arms folded, his lunch untouched. His gaze sweeps the room, quiet and unblinking.
How do they do it? he wonders. Laughing. Loving. Just living like it's the easiest thing in the world.
Across the room, a couple leans in close, speaking in quiet tones only they understand. A group of boys fake-wrestles near the snack line, their chaotic energy somehow magnetic. Gio exhales through his nose, low and resigned.
It's like I'm watching a play I never auditioned for. Just... observing from the wings. Always the watcher.
He's halfway through detaching when a voice cuts through the noise—bright, real, unmistakably directed at him.
"Hey. This seat taken?"
Gio looks up, startled. Rinai stands there, tray in hand, smiling like she's known him forever. Before he can answer, she slides into the seat across from him, her tray clattering softly onto the table.
"Oh... uh, go ahead," Gio mumbles.
Rinai wastes no time. She digs into her food, somehow managing to eat and talk without missing a beat.
"You always sit alone?" she asks between bites. "I saw you yesterday. Kinda ghosting around the edges of the room. Not in a creepy way," she adds quickly, grinning. "Just… quiet. You watch people a lot."
Gio shifts, caught off guard by how easily she reads him. "I guess. It's easier sometimes."
She nods, unfazed. "Makes sense. Watching's useful. You pick up on all kinds of stuff—who's faking, who's real, who's trying too hard."
"You watch people too?"
"Sure. But I like jumping in more." She leans in a little, eyes flicking across his face. "Watching's fine, but you miss the chaos. And chaos is the fun part."
Her tone is teasing, but Gio hears something sincere underneath. He says nothing, but Rinai seems to get the hint and shifts gears without making it awkward.
"You're good on guitar," she says, tilting her head toward his case.
Gio glances at it like he'd forgotten it was there. "Since middle school. I'm still learning."
"Everyone's still learning," she says, as if it's obvious. "But you've got something. That sound yesterday—kinda raw, but... honest."
Gio looks down, embarrassed. "Thanks."
"You're welcome," she says, matter-of-factly, like complimenting him is just another part of the conversation. "Aerilyn's scary good too, right? She's like—mysterious vibes plus actual talent."
"She's… different," Gio says, unsure how to phrase it better.
"Totally. She barely talks but still takes up space, you know?" Rinai chuckles. "She's not trying to be interesting. She just is."
That makes Gio smile for real. "Yeah."
For a moment, the noise around them fades. Rinai's energy is unmistakable—bright, untamed—but never overbearing. She doesn't crowd his space. She just sits in it, like she belongs.
"So, what class are you in? I'm 3-A. You're 3-B, right?"
"Yeah. You're in the smart class."
Rinai groans. "Don't remind me. It's like they expect us to be perfect robots or something. I'd rather be writing lyrics than writing essays."
"I don't think I'd survive a day in 3-A."
She laughs. "You probably would. You've got that broody genius vibe going."
Gio raises an eyebrow, but Rinai just flashes a grin, unabashed.
Then her tone softens, just a little.
"You know," she says, "you don't have to sit alone every day. You can hang with me, if you want."
Gio blinks. The offer lands heavier than she probably meant it to. Not pitying. Not pushy. Just... real.
"I—uh—thanks," he says, fumbling for the right words.
Rinai stands, brushing crumbs off her tray like it's nothing. "No pressure. Just don't forget—you don't always have to be the watcher."
She pauses, glancing back at him with a smile that doesn't demand anything.
"You're allowed to be part of it too."
With that, she turns and walks off into the chaos like she never disrupted it. Gio watches her go, still feeling the echo of her presence in the quiet corner she'd lit up.
For the first time in a long while, the canteen feels a little less like a stage—and a little more like a place he might belong.
***
The music room was bathed in soft amber light, slats of sun casting narrow shadows across the polished floor. A gentle rhythm filled the space—two guitars weaving in and out of each other, casual but steady, like the beginnings of a shared breath.
Rinai sat cross-legged on the floor, her guitar resting comfortably in her lap. She strummed lazily, letting the notes fall like pebbles into still water. Gio mirrored her posture on the other side of the room, the distance between them shrinking with each bar of sound.
"Alright, Gio," she said suddenly, breaking the silence with a grin. "What's your go-to band? You give off serious rock vibes."
He adjusted the tuning peg on his low E string, eyes on his hands. "Yeah… I'm into the classics. Pink Floyd, Radiohead. Stuff that messes with your head a little."
Rinai's eyes lit up, and the way her entire face changed when she smiled—like it cracked through something heavier—made Gio pause.
"Radiohead? Now we're talking," she said, leaning in, her black ponytail slipping over her shoulder. "I'm more of a pop-rock and indie girl—Paramore, definitely. And Japanese rock, like One Ok Rock."
Gio looked up at her, surprised. She was all brightness and nerve endings, yet there was something grounded about the way she said that—like music wasn't just sound to her. It was tether.
"Didn't expect you to be into Japanese rock," he said. "One Ok Rock is pretty great."
"Full of surprises." She winked. "So… what's your favorite Radiohead album?"
But before he could answer, she winced and rubbed her throat with a dramatic sigh. "Ugh, I forgot to bring water today."
Gio stood, brushing off his jeans. "I'll grab something from the vending machine. What do you want?"
"Anything cold," she said, flashing him a grateful smile. "You're a total lifesaver!"
As he left the room, her voice still hung in his ears—warm, easy, like a beam of light through half-closed blinds. Rinai was chaotic in a way that didn't demand attention—it just invited it. Her presence didn't force Gio out of his shell; it trickled in, like light soaking slowly through fabric.
But the hallway outside felt cooler, quieter. As he rounded a corner, he spotted someone sitting alone at the far end by the windows.
Aerilyn.
Aerilyn.
Folded into herself, arms wrapped around her knees, she stared through the glass like she wasn't really looking at anything. The light caught the edge of her profile, casting a soft glow on her pale cheekbone. Her long white hair spilled over her shoulders in ghostly strands, unbrushed and slightly tangled, as if she'd walked through the day without noticing herself. Her white skirt was streaked with gray where it brushed the floor, dirt clinging to the fabric like she'd stopped caring what got on her.
There was a weight to her stillness—not the peaceful kind, but the kind that sinks. Her eyes were blank, not in a dreamy way, but in a worn-out way—like she'd seen too much and was now tuned out, floating somewhere behind the glass. Something about her posture reminded Gio of a closed music box—delicate, untouchable.
He hesitated.
Then stepped forward.
Without a word, he sat beside her. The silence was thin, stretched like a wire between them.
Eventually, he spoke. "Hey… you okay?"
Aerilyn didn't look at him, just kept her eyes fixed on the gray clouds outside. Her voice came out low, like a frayed thread.
"Why do you care?"
Gio glanced down, his voice quiet. "Because I've been there. Sitting alone. Wanting to disappear. I know what that's like."
For a moment, neither of them moved. But something shifted—her shoulders slackened, just slightly, like a drawn bow easing.
"You don't have to say anything," he continued. "Just… know you're not invisible. Rinai and I—we see you."
Aerilyn turned her head slightly, eyes narrowing—not in anger, but in calculation. There was hurt there, wrapped tight in silence.
"It's not that simple."
"No," Gio said, standing. "It never is. But we'll be in the music room. If you want to come. You don't even have to say a word."
He started to leave, then looked over his shoulder.
"I'll get you something to drink. You look like you need one."
She didn't respond, but after a long pause, she stood slowly, brushing off her skirt.
"Fine. But don't expect much."
Gio gave a small nod—the kind you only give when you know anything more might break the moment. He bought two drinks and returned with Aerilyn, the silence between them now less heavy, more like shared space.
Back in the music room, Rinai perked up as soon as she saw them.
"Hey!" she called out brightly. "Aerilyn! You found her!"
She hopped up from the floor, ponytail swishing, and accepted the drink with a smile that dimmed only slightly when she caught the look in Aerilyn's eyes.
Aerilyn took the can Gio offered without a word and settled quietly onto a chair in the corner, curling into herself again. She didn't reach for an instrument. She just watched.
Rinai kept things light, bouncing back into the middle of the room. "So, what's the vibe today? Are we jamming or just vibing?"
No response.
Gio picked up his guitar and began strumming a mellow chord progression—something atmospheric, unintrusive. Rinai joined in, humming softly, her voice weaving in and out of the chords like a thread through cloth. But the ease from earlier had dissipated. The rhythm faltered.
She leaned over to Gio, voice lowered. "She's really quiet today. Do you think something's wrong?"
"Yeah," he murmured. "I found her by the windows. Just… sitting."
They kept playing, letting the music fill in what words couldn't. Aerilyn remained where she was, watching but untouched, like someone listening from the other side of a glass wall.
But she was here.
And somehow, that felt like the start of something.
She didn't play, didn't speak—but she stayed. And for now, that was enough.