Chapter 3: The Weight of Silence

Ren ito sat at his desk, once again folding the corner of his notebook, a nervous habit that had become second nature. The soft murmur of the classroom buzzed around him, but it all felt like a distant hum. His eyes stayed fixed on the door, waiting—anticipating.

Aoi would be here soon.

It had become a routine of sorts. Every day, Aoi Mizushima would sit next to him, bright and full of energy, her chatter flowing like a stream, filling the void that Ren could never bridge. He never spoke, but that didn’t seem to matter to her. She talked enough for both of them, and while Ren couldn’t bring himself to reply, her presence had become something he now craved.

He wouldn’t admit it—not even to himself—but the days she didn’t come by felt incomplete, like something vital was missing. He would never tell her this, of course. How could he? How could someone like him, who couldn’t even say “good morning,” convey the enormity of the feelings that were slowly, inexorably, growing inside him?

The door slid open, and there she was.

“Ren-kun!” Aoi’s voice rang out, a bright melody that pierced through the monotony of the classroom. She waved as she approached, a slight skip in her step as if she was carrying some secret joy. Ren’s heart skipped too, though he knew she could never notice.

As she sat down beside him, she started talking about the latest gossip, about Kento Mori, as always. Ren’s chest tightened, that familiar ache rising at the mere mention of the other boy’s name. She liked Kento—her eyes lit up every time she mentioned him, her voice taking on a softer tone. Ren felt it like a weight pressing on him, a reminder that no matter how much he longed to speak, no matter how much he wanted to reach out to her, Aoi’s heart wasn’t his to win.

“Guess what, Ren? Kento invited me to his study group this weekend,” Aoi said, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “It’s just a small group, but still… I think this could be a chance for me to get closer to him.”

Ren felt the breath catch in his throat. His hands clenched under the desk, his fingers digging into his palms as if the pain could anchor him, keep him from drowning in the storm of emotions that raged inside. How could she not see? How could she be so blind to the way his heart beat faster every time she smiled at him, the way he stayed up late at night replaying every word she said, imagining how different things could be if only he could speak?

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

But he couldn’t. He never could.

“That’s great, Aoi,” he wanted to say. But all that came out was a small, almost imperceptible nod.

She didn’t seem to notice the turmoil in his eyes. She never did.

Aoi continued to talk about her plans with Kento, her excitement spilling out in waves. Ren listened, as he always did, the knot in his chest growing tighter with each word. He tried to tell himself that her happiness was enough, that it didn’t matter if she never saw him the way he saw her. But the lie was beginning to wear thin.

He wanted more. And that terrified him.

The bell rang, signaling the start of class. Aoi stood up, giving him a small wave before heading to her seat. “Wish me luck on the test, Ren-kun!” she called out as she walked away.

Ren watched her go, the familiar emptiness settling in her absence. His hands trembled slightly as he gripped the edge of the desk, his mind racing. He didn’t know how much longer he could do this—how much longer he could sit in silence, watching her slip further and further away from him.

After class, Ren wandered the empty hallways, his feet carrying him toward the art room. It was the one place he felt even remotely like himself, where the weight of his silence didn’t seem quite so heavy. He sat down at one of the easels and pulled out his sketchpad, the blank page staring back at him like a challenge.

His hand moved almost unconsciously, sketching the familiar lines of a figure he had drawn countless times before. Aoi’s face emerged on the paper, her bright eyes, her soft smile—though there was something different this time. Her smile didn’t reach her eyes, her expression tinged with a sadness that wasn’t really hers but rather his own projection of how he felt inside.

The more Ren drew, the more the image seemed to capture the depth of his unspoken emotions. His hand trembled as he shaded in the soft curve of her lips, the lines of her hair. He poured everything he couldn’t say into the drawing—the longing, the frustration, the fear that one day she would walk away, leaving him behind in the silence.

He stared at the finished sketch, his heart heavy. It was the only way he could express what he felt for her, but it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.

The door to the art room creaked open, startling him from his thoughts. He quickly shoved the sketchpad into his bag, his heart racing.

Aoi stood at the doorway, a curious look on her face. “Ren-kun? What are you doing here?”

He froze, his throat tightening as he tried to come up with an explanation. He hadn’t expected her to find him here, not now. His mind raced, searching for words, but as always, they wouldn’t come.

Aoi smiled, walking over to him. “You’re always so mysterious. I didn’t know you liked drawing.”

Ren swallowed hard, his pulse pounding in his ears. She couldn’t see the sketch—she couldn’t see how much of himself he had poured into that drawing. How much of his heart was laid bare on that page.

“Can I see?” she asked, reaching for his bag.

Panic flared in Ren’s chest, and before he could stop himself, he grabbed the bag, clutching it tightly to his chest. Aoi blinked, taken aback by his sudden movement.

“I-I’m sorry,” she said softly, pulling her hand back. “I didn’t mean to pry.”

Ren shook his head, trying to convey that it wasn’t her fault, that it was him, always him, trapped in this endless cycle of fear and silence. But no matter how much he wanted to explain, the words remained locked inside.

Aoi gave him a small, understanding smile. “It’s okay, Ren-kun. You don’t have to show me if you’re not ready.”

She stood there for a moment longer, her gaze lingering on him, as if she could see through the walls he had built around himself. Then, with a final smile, she turned and left, leaving him alone once again.

Ren slumped back in his chair, his heart heavy with regret. She was slipping away again, and he didn’t know how to stop it. How could he? When he couldn’t even say the simplest words.

“I like you, Aoi.”

But in the quiet of the art room, only the silence answered back.