Chapter 1: The Silent Observer

Ren Ito sat in his usual spot at the back of the classroom, eyes cast downward, watching the sunlight filter through the windows. The golden beams slanted across the room, casting a soft glow over the desks and chairs. From where he sat, everything seemed so distant, as if the world was happening without him.

The voices of his classmates blended into a low, indistinct hum—laughter, idle gossip, and bursts of conversation that seemed to have no place for him. He listened but didn’t engage. He wanted to speak, wanted to join in, but as always, the words lodged in his throat, refusing to come out.

Ren had long accepted this strange kind of paralysis. It wasn’t that he had nothing to say. On the contrary, his mind was constantly swirling with thoughts, ideas, observations—things he wanted to share. But the moment he opened his mouth, his mind would blank, the anxiety gripping him so tightly he couldn’t breathe, let alone speak. So, he stayed silent, like a spectator of his own life.

His hands fidgeted under the desk, nervously folding the corner of his notebook. He focused on the simple motion of his fingers, trying to distract himself from the sense of alienation that gnawed at his insides. Around him, the world moved on, conversations ebbing and flowing, a constant reminder that he was always on the outside looking in.

And then, she arrived.

“Good morning, Ren!” A cheerful voice broke through the white noise of the classroom. It was a voice he’d grown used to, though it still startled him each time.

Aoi Mizushima stood before him, her dark hair falling in waves over her shoulders. She wore a bright smile, as if the day had already been kind to her, and that simple expression sent a pang through Ren’s chest. Aoi wasn’t just kind to him—she was kind to everyone. She had a warmth about her, an energy that made people gravitate toward her, as if her presence could brighten even the darkest corners of a room.

But it wasn’t that brightness that made Ren’s chest tighten. It was the fact that, no matter how much she smiled at him, no matter how many times she said hello, he could never say it back.

Aoi slid into the seat next to his without waiting for an invitation. She always did that, her movements casual and familiar, as if she’d known him for years. Ren, on the other hand, had barely managed to say three words to her since they’d been seated together at the start of the year.

“You look tired,” Aoi said, leaning her elbows on the desk and resting her chin in her hands. “Did you not sleep well?”

Ren glanced at her from the corner of his eye. He could feel the question hovering in the air, waiting for his response. His heartbeat quickened, his throat tightening. He wanted to say something—anything—but the pressure in his chest made it impossible. Instead, he just gave a small nod, hoping that would be enough.

Aoi didn’t seem to mind. She smiled again, softer this time, and leaned back in her chair. “I get that. I didn’t sleep much either. I was up studying for the history exam, but honestly, I’m not sure I’ll even remember half of it. Dates and names just blur together after a while, you know?”

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

Ren knew. He always studied late into the night, his mind refusing to quiet even when his body was exhausted. But even that was hard to communicate. Instead, he nodded again, his fingers still twisting the edge of his notebook.

Aoi continued to talk, filling the silence with her usual chatter. She spoke about the upcoming exam, about a funny moment she had with her friend on the way to school, and then, inevitably, about him.

Kento Mori.

Ren felt a dull ache in his chest whenever Aoi brought up Kento. It was a familiar ache, one he’d tried to ignore for weeks now. Kento was everything Ren wasn’t—confident, popular, effortlessly charming. He was the kind of person who could talk to anyone, who could make people laugh without trying. And Aoi… she was smitten with him.

“He said good morning to me today,” Aoi said, her eyes lighting up as she spoke. “I know it’s silly, but it made me so happy. He has this way of smiling, you know? Like, it’s not just polite—he actually means it. And I think… I think he’s starting to notice me more.”

Ren lowered his gaze to his desk, the knot in his stomach tightening. Aoi had been talking about Kento more and more lately, and every time she did, Ren felt like something inside him was crumbling. He didn’t want to hear about it. He didn’t want to hear how much she liked Kento, how excited she was about the little moments they shared.

But he couldn’t say that. He couldn’t say anything at all.

Aoi was oblivious to the storm brewing inside him. To her, Ren was just a quiet classmate, someone she could talk to when she needed a break from the more chaotic parts of her life. He was a steady presence, always there to listen, even if he never responded.

“I think I’m going to tell him how I feel soon,” Aoi continued, her voice softening as she toyed with a strand of her hair. “I don’t know if he likes me back, but… I have to try, right?”

Ren’s heart sank. The weight of her words pressed down on him, suffocating. Tell him how she feels. The thought twisted inside him like a knife. He knew it would come to this eventually. Aoi was the type of person who couldn’t keep her feelings bottled up for long. She was brave in a way he could never be—able to speak her heart, to face the possibility of rejection head-on.

He, on the other hand, couldn’t even tell her good morning.

“Anyway,” Aoi said, pushing herself up from the desk. “I should probably get to class. Wish me luck on the history test?”

Ren nodded, though it felt like a betrayal to offer even that small gesture of support. Aoi grinned at him one last time before turning to leave, her steps light as she crossed the classroom.

And just like that, Ren was alone again.

He watched her go, feeling the familiar pang of regret settle deep in his chest. The words he wanted to say—Don’t go. Stay. I need you—never left his lips. They never would.

The rest of the day passed in a blur. Ren sat through his classes, his mind drifting, barely registering the lectures. He didn’t go to lunch, choosing instead to stay in the classroom where it was quieter, where he could escape the noise and the people who made him feel like a ghost.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to be around them. He did. But every time he tried to join in, his anxiety would rise like a tide, pulling him under until he couldn’t breathe. The weight of their expectations—their easy laughter, their conversations that flowed without effort—it was too much for him. He didn’t know how to be like them. He didn’t know how to fit in.

So, he didn’t try.

After school, Ren made his usual trek home. The streets were familiar, the same route he’d taken for years. The trees lining the road were beginning to shed their leaves, scattering the pavement with gold and red. It was beautiful, in a way. Peaceful.

But not even the beauty of the autumn afternoon could lift the heaviness that clung to him.

His house was quiet when he arrived, his parents still at work. Ren liked it that way. The silence of the empty house matched the silence inside him, and for a while, it made the loneliness easier to bear.

He went to his room and sat at his desk, staring at the blank sheet of paper in front of him. He’d been trying to draw more lately. Art had always been his escape—a way to express the things he couldn’t say. But lately, even that had felt hollow. The sketches never turned out right. They never captured what he was feeling.

He picked up his pencil, his fingers trembling slightly. He started with a simple line, then another, and another. Slowly, the lines formed a figure. A girl with long hair and a bright smile. Aoi.

Ren stared at the drawing, the ache in his chest growing. He wanted to capture her the way she was—full of life, full of warmth. But the figure on the paper looked sad, her eyes downcast, her smile faint. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t her.

Frustrated, Ren crumpled the paper into a ball and tossed it aside. What was the point? No matter how many times he tried, he could never get it right. He could never show her how much she meant to him. He could never tell her.

And now, she was slipping away.

He leaned back in his chair, staring up at the ceiling. The silence pressed in on him, heavier than before. It was always like this. The loneliness, the frustration, the feeling of being trapped in his own mind. He

wanted to scream, to shout, to break free from the chains that held him down. But