By the time Caelum and Amoriel returned to their classroom, most of the students had already settled down.
The noise hadn't disappeared completely.
A group near the back was still arguing over something.
Someone by the window was trying to finish homework that should have been done the night before.
A paper airplane glided across the room before crashing into a desk.
Nobody seemed surprised.
Just another normal day.
Caelum dropped into his seat and rested his chin on one hand.
For some reason, he immediately glanced behind him.
Lyra was there.
Not reading.
Not writing.
Just looking out the window.
The afternoon sunlight spilled across her desk, catching a few strands of dark hair as they shifted with the breeze from the open window.
For a second, she looked unusually relaxed.
Then she noticed him.
Their eyes met.
Lyra immediately turned away and reached for her notebook.
Caelum faced forward just as fast.
"...Right."
Beside him, Amoriel sat down.
"You looked."
"I did not."
"You did."
"I was checking something."
"What."
He opened a textbook.
"I forgot."
Amoriel stared at him for a moment.
Then opened her diary.
The familiar notebook appeared once again.
Caelum groaned.
"You're carrying that everywhere now?"
"Yes."
"You've had it for one day."
"It has been useful."
That was probably true.
Which somehow made it worse.
The classroom gradually quieted as the teacher entered.
A few students hurried back to their seats.
The lesson began.
At first, Caelum tried to focus.
He really did.
For nearly ten minutes, everything went smoothly.
Then he heard it.
A soft sound behind him.
A sigh.
Nothing unusual.
People sighed all the time.
Yet somehow, he knew exactly who it came from.
His pencil paused.
A few minutes later, someone cracked a joke on the other side of the room.
Several students laughed.
Including Lyra.
Just once.
A small laugh.
Gone almost immediately.
Caelum stared at the board.
For some reason, that bothered him.
Not because she laughed.
Because she wasn't laughing with him.
The realization annoyed him enough that he spent the next several minutes trying not to think about it.
Unfortunately, that only made him think about it more.
When the teacher asked a question, a few students avoided eye contact.
One pretended to search through a notebook.
Another suddenly became fascinated by the ceiling.
The teacher sighed.
"Anyone?"
A hand went up.
Lyra.
As usual.
She answered correctly.
As usual.
The teacher nodded and continued.
As usual.
Everything was normal.
So why did it feel different?
Caelum rubbed his temple.
The answer was obvious.
He just didn't like it.
—
The bell eventually rang.
Conversations immediately burst back to life.
Chairs moved.
Bags zipped.
Students stretched like they'd been trapped for hours.
Caelum packed his things slowly.
Not intentionally.
It just happened.
When he finally stood, Lyra was already walking toward the door.
Again.
"...Hey."
The word left before he could stop it.
Lyra paused.
Only for a moment.
Then looked over her shoulder.
"What."
The answer came so quickly that he almost forgot what he wanted to say.
"I..."
Nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
His mind went blank.
Lyra waited.
Three seconds.
Four.
Then she turned away.
"That's what I thought."
And kept walking.
Caelum stared after her.
"...Well."
Amoriel appeared beside him.
"That was unsuccessful."
"Thank you."
"You are welcome."
"I wasn't complimenting you."
"I know."
For some reason, hearing that twice in one day was significantly less funny.
—
The cafeteria was busier than usual.
Finding an empty table took longer than expected.
When they finally sat down, Caelum found himself scanning the room without thinking.
Amoriel noticed immediately.
"You are looking for Lyra."
"No."
"Your eyes moved toward the left side of the room six times."
He lowered his tray onto the table.
"Please stop counting things."
She considered that.
"That is reasonable."
At least she accepted it this time.
A small victory.
Caelum picked up his drink.
Then froze.
There.
Near one of the windows.
Lyra was sitting with a few girls from class.
One of them was speaking animatedly, using both hands while telling a story.
Another nearly spilled her drink from laughing.
Lyra shook her head.
Then smiled.
A real smile.
Not the tiny sarcastic ones she usually directed at him.
Not the smug ones after winning an argument.
Just... a normal smile.
It looked surprisingly natural.
And strangely unfamiliar.
"You appear disappointed."
Caelum nearly inhaled his drink.
"Where did that come from?"
Amoriel pointed.
"You found the target."
"Stop calling her that."
"Noted."
She paused.
"Second observation."
"There better not be a second observation."
"You looked happier before seeing her."
Caelum opened his mouth.
Then closed it.
Then opened it again.
Nothing came out.
Because annoyingly enough—
she might have been right.
Across the cafeteria, Lyra suddenly glanced their way.
Their eyes met.
Just for a second.
No glare.
No irritation.
No expression at all.
Then she returned to her conversation.
Like nothing had happened.
Like he wasn't there.
For some reason, that felt worse than being ignored.
Caelum looked down at his lunch.
The food hadn't changed.
The cafeteria hadn't changed.
The day hadn't changed.
Yet everything felt slightly out of place.
And the worst part?
He was starting to realize just how much of his day usually involved Lyra.
A realization that arrived far too late to be useful.