I did not think I knew Noelle that well.
She was always this quiet girl who sat two rows behind me. There was not much about her, other than one thing that stood out the most: the chrysanthemum that was always on her desk every morning. Sometimes one, sometimes two, sometimes three or four. What was certain was that the petals always looked fresh, as if they had been picked that same morning.
But Noelle never complained. She did not even report it to the teachers. Eventually the adults decided it was just another tasteless high school prank. Usually, she would simply pick up the flower carefully, almost politely, before throwing it into the trash.
One morning, however, I noticed that Noelle paused at her desk before throwing the flowers away. It was only for a moment, something I caught out of the corner of my eye. She stood there quietly, holding the stem between her fingers as if she was thinking about something. Then she dropped it into the trash like she always did.
After that, she stopped showing up for classes.
When the teacher called her name during attendance, no one answered. At first it only happened once or twice. After a few days, the teacher simply marked something on the sheet and moved on. A few students turned to glance at the empty seat behind me, but most of them did not bother.
"Doesn't anyone here know where Noelle lives?"
The classroom stayed quiet for a moment after the teacher asked the question. No one answered. A few students glanced at each other before quickly looking back down at their desks, as if they were hoping someone else would speak first. Someone near the window shrugged and muttered that maybe she had transferred schools. Another voice from the back of the room laughed softly and said that it was probably better for her anyway. The teacher waited a little longer, scanning the room with mild impatience, but when it became clear that no one would respond, she simply sighed and wrote something on the attendance sheet before continuing with the lesson as if nothing unusual had happened.
I did not say anything either.
My eyes drifted toward Noelle's desk without really meaning to. The chrysanthemums were still there, exactly where they had been left. They looked worse than yesterday. The petals had begun to curl inward, and their bright color had faded into something dull and tired. One flower had already collapsed to the side, its stem bent weakly against the wooden surface. Another had fallen onto the floor beside her chair. No one seemed to notice it, and no one bothered to pick it up.
Later, during lunch, I heard people talking about her. The conversations were not loud, just quiet remarks passed between small groups of students who pretended not to care too much about the subject. Someone said that Noelle had finally snapped. Someone else suggested that she might have run away from home. Another person claimed that the school must have expelled her and simply not announced it yet. None of them sounded particularly certain about what they were saying, but that did not seem to stop them from speculating anyway.
I did not join the conversation. I simply ate my lunch and listened from where I was sitting. People always like to guess when someone disappears.
When I returned to the classroom later that afternoon, the room was empty. Sunlight from the tall windows stretched across the rows of desks, making the quiet space feel strangely larger than it usually did during class hours.
Noelle's seat remained exactly the same as before.
The chrysanthemums had not moved.
Up close, they looked even worse than I expected. The petals had grown soft and fragile, their edges darkening into an unpleasant shade of brown. There was also a faint smell beginning to form, subtle but noticeable if you stood close enough.
I stood there for a moment, staring at them. For a brief second, I considered picking them up and throwing them away. It seemed like the obvious thing to do.
But my hand never moved.
Instead, I simply stepped back from the desk.
I do not know why people keep talking about her so much. Noelle and I were never close. We barely spoke to each other outside of classwork. The argument on the rooftop was not even that serious. It was just one of those small disagreements that happen between classmates from time to time, the kind that people usually forget about after a day or two.
At least, that was what I kept telling myself.
As I left the classroom, I glanced out the window without really thinking about it. From where I stood, the school rooftop was clearly visible above the courtyard. The metal fence around it rattled slightly as the wind pushed against it. For a moment, I remembered Noelle standing there the other day, her hair moving slightly in the breeze while she faced me across the empty space.
Then I looked away.
After all, it had only been an argument.
Nothing important enough to remember.
On my way home that afternoon, I heard someone mention an accident near the train station. It was not said with much concern, only the casual curiosity people have when something unusual interrupts their routine. A few students walking ahead of me were talking about how one of the evening trains had been delayed the night before because a girl had jumped onto the tracks. They were not sure about the details. Someone said the police had closed the platform for almost an hour, while another insisted the train driver had not seen her until it was too late. Their voices carried back toward me in fragments as we walked, the story passing from one person to another as if it were nothing more than another piece of gossip.
For a moment, the thought crossed my mind that it might have been Noelle.
But I pushed the idea away almost immediately.
There was no reason to connect the two things. People disappear from school all the time. They move away, transfer, or stay home because of family problems. It was careless to assume something worse had happened based on a rumor I had barely heard properly. The city was full of strangers, and the train station was always crowded in the evenings.
It could have been anyone.
There was no reason for me to think it had anything to do with someone from our class.
Even if it had been her, it still would not have had anything to do with me. That was the part I reminded myself of most clearly. Whatever problems Noelle had were her own. I barely spoke to her, and the few conversations we did have were nothing important. The argument on the rooftop had been small and pointless, the kind of disagreement people forget about almost immediately.
By the time I reached home, the rumor about the train accident already felt distant, like something I had imagined hearing rather than something that had actually happened.
The next morning, the classroom felt different the moment I stepped inside. The air carried a quiet heaviness that I could not immediately explain. Usually the room would already be filled with the sound of people talking before the first lesson, but that morning the conversations were softer and less certain.
When the teacher entered the room, she did not begin the lesson right away. Instead, she placed her books on the desk and looked at us for a moment.
"There is something I need to tell the class," she said. "One of your classmates passed away yesterday."
For a brief second, no one reacted. Then she continued. "It was Noelle."
The name settled into the silence like something heavy being placed gently on a table. My gaze shifted toward the back of the classroom before I could stop it. Noelle's desk was still there, exactly the same as it had been the day before. The chrysanthemums had grown darker overnight, their petals curling inward as they slowly dried against the wooden surface. One of the stems had finally collapsed, leaving the flower lying awkwardly across the desk.
The teacher said something about showing respect and holding a moment of silence later that day, but I barely listened. Instead, I stared at the flowers and tried to convince myself that the uneasy feeling in my chest meant nothing. Rumors about train accidents happen all the time. There was no proof that the story I heard yesterday had anything to do with Noelle.
Even if it did, it would still only be a coincidence.
And besides, whatever had happened to Noelle had already happened long before the teacher said her name out loud in the classroom. By the time we heard about it, there was nothing anyone could do about it anymore.