he silence of the school library had its own heartbeat. Soft ticks of the antique wall clock, the distant hum of fluorescent lights, and the gentle shuffling of someone flipping a page three tables down.
Mio sat in the backmost corner, where shadows made the room feel heavier, older. Her sketchbook was open, her mechanical pencil dancing quietly across the page. She drew like she breathed — unconsciously, steadily, like it was the only thing keeping her anchored.
This drawing wasn't supposed to be of anyone.
But it was.
Aika.
Her profile. The slight curve of her lips when she wasn't smiling, the downward tilt of her eyes that made her look like she was holding something back all the time. Her hands—those damn hands—the way they cradled piano keys like they were fragile.
Mio hated it.
She hated how clearly she remembered every detail.
And how many times she'd drawn her without meaning to.
She'd torn out pages. Burned one in the dorm kettle once. And still, every time she picked up a pencil...
There she was.
"You've got a thing for me, huh?"
The voice was sudden, low, and far too close. Mio jumped. Her pencil skidded off the page, leaving a harsh scratch across Aika's face.
She looked up, heart thudding. Aika stood behind her — arms folded across her chest, eyebrow raised, head tilted slightly in amusement.
Mio panicked.
"I–I didn't know anyone was— I was just sketching— It's not—"
"It is me, though," Aika said smoothly, sliding into the chair across from her like they did this every day. "That's my nose. And my 'I haven't slept in two days' look. You nailed it."
Mio scrambled to close the sketchbook, nearly knocking over her bag. "You shouldn't sneak up on people!"
"You shouldn't draw people you're not ready to talk to," Aika shot back, with a crooked half-smile.
That shut Mio up.
They stared at each other across the desk for a moment. Mio's cheeks were flushed, but she didn't look away. Not this time.
"What are you doing here?" she asked finally.
"Looking for you," Aika said simply.
Mio blinked. "Why?"
Aika leaned forward slightly, the overhead light catching the gold in her brown eyes. "Because I think... you get it."
"Get what?"
A pause. Aika's smile faded into something softer.
"Whatever this is," she said quietly. "The thing under all the 'good girl' layers. You feel like you're pretending too, don't you?"
Mio felt something shift inside her — like someone had touched a wire that had been buried under years of silence.
"Come to lunch with me tomorrow," Aika said.
"…Why?"
Aika looked at her, head tilted. "Because I want to see what you draw when you're not scared."
Their conversation was cut short by the creak of the library door. Footsteps echoed softly against the hardwood floor, followed by the quiet tap of heels.
Reika-sensei.
She moved with the grace of someone who knew how to walk into a room and make it hers. A folder in one hand, a disposable coffee cup in the other.
Her hair was pinned neatly, glasses reflecting the dim light. She didn't say anything, but her eyes flicked toward Mio and Aika for a long, lingering moment.
Mio stiffened. Aika glanced back casually.
Reika's expression didn't change, but something about it felt… knowing.
Then she walked on, disappearing behind the tall shelves near the music theory section.
Aika watched her go, then turned back to Mio.
"You always get that weird shiver when she's around?"
"…She's our teacher."
"So?"
Mio blinked. "Aren't you… scared she'll think something?"
Aika grinned. "I hope she does."
That night, the dorms were quieter than usual. Sora was out — probably sneaking around the seniors' wing again — and Mio found herself alone in her room, sitting on the floor with her sketchbook open on her lap.
She flipped through it.
Drawing after drawing.
All Aika.
Different poses. Different moods. Some realistic, some abstract — smudges of charcoal where eyes should've been, pencil scratches forming shadows that didn't match the light.
And then, the last page.
Mio froze.
It was the sketch she'd been working on earlier, the one she thought she'd ruined. But now… it was finished.
She hadn't finished it.
Had she?
The lines were clean. Too clean. Aika sat in the garden, fingers grazing the petals of a lily, eyes full of something unreadable.
And in the background… was someone else.
A blurry figure.
Standing in the hallway. Watching them.
Glasses. A soft bun. The outline of a staff lanyard.
Reika-sensei?
Mio's fingers trembled. She hadn't drawn that.
Had she?
She stared at the sketch for a long time.
Then quietly, she tore it out, folded it, and slid it into the back of her wardrobe.