Some gaps don't stay silent.
They grow louder the moment you try to cross them.
The next day felt… different.
Not because anything had changed around Loid Ainsworth.
But because something had changed within him.
"Alright class," Mr. Harrison's voice cut through the morning noise, "group activity. Four students each."
Chairs scraped instantly.
Names were called. Friends gathered without thinking.
It was automatic.
Except for one person.
Loid stayed seated.
Not because he wanted to.
But because no one asked.
He watched as groups formed quickly—Jay already laughing with Noah and Ethan, Mia joining Ava, conversations flowing like they always did.
Normal.
Effortless.
And then there was him.
"Loid."
He looked up.
Mr. Harrison adjusted his glasses slightly. "You'll join that group."
Loid followed his gaze.
His chest tightened.
Charlotte Vale.
She stood with Ava and another classmate, glancing briefly in his direction.
There was no expression on her face.
Just acknowledgment.
Nothing more.
Loid stood up.
Each step felt louder than it should have.
Jay shot him a look from across the room—half amused, half surprised.
"Good luck," he mouthed.
Loid ignored him.
He reached the group.
"Hey," Ava said casually. "We need one more anyway."
Charlotte gave a small nod. "Yeah."
That was it.
No excitement.
No rejection.
Just… acceptance.
Which somehow felt worse.
They sat together.
For a moment, no one spoke.
Then Charlotte picked up the worksheet.
"I'll divide the parts," she said naturally. "It'll be faster."
No one disagreed.
She wasn't bossy.
Just… in control.
Loid noticed it instantly.
The way she spoke.
The way people listened.
The way decisions formed around her without effort.
She handed him a section.
"Can you do this part?"
Her tone was polite.
But distant.
Like she would've said the same thing to anyone.
"Yeah," Loid replied.
Short.
Simple.
He looked down at the paper.
The question wasn't hard.
But his mind wasn't focused on it.
It was on everything else.
The way Ava and the others talked easily.
The way Charlotte occasionally added something and everyone paid attention.
The way he…
didn't fit.
"Done," Ava said after a few minutes.
Charlotte nodded. "Let's combine."
Loid finished his part and passed it silently.
She glanced at his work.
For a second—
just a second—
she paused.
"It's correct," she said.
And moved on.
No smile.
No extra reaction.
But no dismissal either.
Loid leaned back slightly.
That should've felt good.
It didn't.
Because he knew—
Being correct wasn't enough here.
Being present wasn't enough.
There was something else.
Something he didn't have yet.
Across the room, laughter broke out from another group.
Jay's voice.
Confident. Easy. Natural.
Everything Loid wasn't.
"Okay, we're done," Charlotte said, standing up. "I'll submit it."
She walked away with the paper.
And just like that—
the group dissolved.
No lingering conversation.
No reason to stay.
Loid remained seated for a moment.
Watching.
Thinking.
Feeling that same quiet realization from yesterday—
only louder now.
The gap wasn't just in his head.
It was real.
Visible.
Measurable.
And standing this close to her—
only made it clearer.
Jay dropped into the seat beside him a minute later.
"So?" he asked. "How was it?"
Loid exhaled slowly.
"…Normal."
Jay smirked. "That bad, huh?"
Loid didn't respond.
Because he didn't have the words yet.
Not for the feeling.
Not for the difference.
Not for the way everything around her seemed… effortless.
While everything for him felt forced.
Jay leaned back, studying him for a moment.
"Let me guess," he said. "You're thinking you're not enough."
Loid's eyes flickered.
Jay clicked his tongue. "Yeah. Thought so."
Silence stretched between them.
Then—
quietly—
Loid spoke.
"Not yet."
Jay blinked. "Huh?"
Loid looked forward, eyes steady.
"Not enough… yet."
For the first time—
there was no doubt in his voice.
Only something new.
Something stronger.
Something that hadn't been there before.
Resolve.
Jay stared at him for a second.
Then slowly smiled.
"…Now that's interesting."
Loid didn't smile back.
He didn't need to.
Because for the first time—
he wasn't just aware of the gap.
He had taken his first step toward closing it.