The hill behind Fujisawa Academy was the best place to watch the stars—or at least, that’s what Hikari’s grandmother had always said.

Hikari Aizawa tightened her scarf against the autumn chill, her breath fogging in the air as she climbed the familiar path. The grass whispered under her shoes, damp with evening dew. At the top stood a single wooden bench, its paint peeling from years of wind and rain. She traced the carved initials on the armrest—her grandmother’s.

*"Make a wish, Hikari. The stars listen better here."*

Her chest ached. Three years since Grandma’s passing, and the hollow space she left still hadn’t filled.

Hikari tilted her head back. The sky was clear tonight, a sprawling canvas of silver pinpricks. She fumbled with the star pendant around her neck—her grandmother’s last gift—and whispered the words she’d choked on for months:

*"Will I ever be loved? Or am I meant to be invisible forever?"*

A streak of light blazed across the heavens.

A shooting star.

Hikari’s breath caught. She squeezed her eyes shut, wishing so hard her ribs hurt. When she opened them again, the world looked... different.

Faint silver threads glowed in the air, connecting people below the hill—students walking home, couples holding hands. One thread, brighter than the rest, linked a laughing girl to a boy carrying groceries.

*What... is this?*

A sharp voice shattered her daze.

*"You’re blocking the path."*

Hikari spun around. A tall boy stood behind her, his black hair messy under the streetlamp’s glow. A single silver streak framed his scowling face.

Ren Kurosawa.

The school’s most infamous delinquent.

Her pulse spiked. Rumors about him ranged from *"he punched a teacher"* to *"he’s in a motorcycle gang."* Up close, he just looked... tired.

*"S-Sorry,"* Hikari stammered, scrambling aside.

Ren’s gaze flicked to the sky, then back to her. *"You here to stargaze?"*

*"Y-Yes."*

*"Hmph."* He shouldered past her—but not before Hikari saw it.

A shimmering silver thread, trailing from Ren’s wrist.

Her stomach dropped as she followed its path—not to her, but to the girl at the bottom of the hill.

Aya Fujisaki. Student council vice president. Perfect, popular, everything Hikari wasn’t.

The thread pulsed, bright as a heartbeat.

Hikari’s fingers curled into fists.

*So even the stars think I’m not enough.*

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The final bell's shrill ring echoed through the empty hallway as Hikari Aizawa ducked into the sanctuary of the school library. The musty scent of old paper and wood polish wrapped around her like a familiar blanket. Here, between the towering shelves, she could breathe.

Her fingers trailed absently along the astronomy section when something unfamiliar caught her eye - a small, worn leather notebook wedged between two heavy textbooks. No identification, just a single silver star sticker peeling at the edges.

The first page made her heart stutter.

*"The North Star doesn't wander,*

*but I do.*

*Maybe that's why*

*I can never find my way home."*

The handwriting was messy yet deliberate, each stroke pressing deep into the paper. Hikari turned the pages with trembling fingers, each poem more breathtaking than the last. Constellations became metaphors for loneliness, supernovas for heartbreak. Then she reached the final entry:

*"I saw a girl on the hill last night,*

*her silhouette against the sky.*

*She looked at the stars like they might vanish,*

*and I wondered—*

*do I look at her the same way?"*

The notebook slipped from her numb fingers just as a shadow fell across the page.

Ren Kurosawa loomed over her, his usual scowl deeper than usual. Up close, Hikari noticed the faint shadows beneath his eyes, the way his silver-streaked hair fell haphazardly across his forehead. He smelled faintly of coffee and something earthy - like rain on pavement.

"That's not yours." His voice was low, dangerous.

Hikari's throat closed up. "I-I didn't mean—"

He snatched the notebook with surprising gentleness, tucking it protectively against his chest. For a fleeting moment, his dark eyes flickered to the astronomy section behind her before hardening again. "Just forget you saw this."

As he turned to leave, Hikari noticed something impossible - the silver thread connecting him to Aya flickered like a candle in the wind, its glow dimming just slightly before steadying again.

The crisp autumn air bit at Hikari's cheeks as she wandered aimlessly after school, her mind still reeling from the library encounter. Before she realized where her feet were taking her, the cheerful chime of a bell announced her arrival at Stella Café.

The warmth inside enveloped her instantly, along with the rich aromas of roasted coffee and cinnamon. Her gaze landed immediately on Ren behind the counter, his sleeves rolled up to reveal lean forearms as he prepared drinks.

"Well, well," a voice drawled. A sun-kissed boy with a shark tooth necklace leaned across the counter, grinning. "If it isn't Ghost Girl herself."

Ren's head snapped up, nearly dropping the mug he was holding. "What are you doing here?"

Hikari's fingers found her star pendant. "I... heard their hot chocolate is good."

The tanned boy - Kai, his nametag read - barked a laugh. "Sure, sure. Silver Streak, make it extra sweet. Wouldn't want her to disappear on us again."

Ren muttered something unintelligible but reached for a clean mug anyway. The silence stretched as he worked, the steam from the milk curling around his fingers.

"Your poems," Hikari blurted out, immediately regretting it when Ren's shoulders tensed. "They're... really beautiful."

The ceramic mug clattered against the countertop. Ren didn't look up as he pushed the drink toward her, his voice barely above a whisper. "Thanks."

Hikari wrapped her hands around the warm mug, letting the heat seep into her skin. "Do you... watch the stars often?"

Ren finally met her gaze, and for the first time, Hikari saw something vulnerable flicker in those dark eyes. "Used to."

"Then why—"

"Hey lovebirds," Kai interrupted, tossing a dish towel over his shoulder. "You're gonna stare holes into each other or actually drink that cocoa before it gets cold?"

Ren threw a sugar packet at his head with startling accuracy, but Hikari noticed the tips of his ears had turned pink. Something warm and unfamiliar blossomed in her chest.

The walk home was quieter than usual, the streetlights casting long shadows across the pavement. Hikari's breath hitched when she spotted Ren's silver thread again - it pulsed weakly, straining toward Aya who stood across the street surrounded by friends. Then, impossibly, it twitched. Just slightly. Like a compass needle searching for true north.

"Hikari?"

She nearly jumped out of her skin. Aya Fujisaki stood before her, her usually perfect ponytail slightly windswept. Up close, Hikari could see the genuine concern in her dark eyes.

"You've been avoiding me," Aya said softly. "Did I do something wrong?"

Hikari's stomach twisted. Of course Aya would be kind about it. "No, I just... I'm not good with people."

Aya studied her for a long moment before smiling gently. "Ren was asking about you earlier. Wanted to know if I knew 'the quiet girl from the astronomy club.'" She tilted her head. "I think he likes you."

The warmth in Hikari's chest flared into an inferno, spreading up her neck. As she stammered for a response, something extraordinary happened - the thread between Aya and Ren flickered again, its glow dimming ever so slightly before steadying into a softer light.

Hikari touched her star pendant, her heart pounding. Maybe, just maybe, the stars weren't as fixed as she'd always believed.

The announcement board outside the faculty office buzzed with activity as students crowded around the newly posted sign-up sheets for the upcoming Autumn Festival. Hikari hovered at the back of the group, her fingers worrying the edges of her notebook. Across the courtyard, Ren leaned against the ginkgo tree, his usual scowl in place as Kai gestured animatedly beside him.

Aya's voice cut through her thoughts. "You should join the festival committee with me."

Hikari nearly dropped her books. "W-what?"

"The astronomy club always runs the planetarium exhibit," Aya continued, tucking a strand of dark hair behind her ear. "But this year, I thought we could—"

"Fujisaki!" A teacher called from the office doorway. "The student council meeting starts in five minutes."

Aya flashed Hikari an apologetic smile. "Think about it?"

As she walked away, Hikari noticed it again—that silver thread stretching between Aya and Ren. It pulsed faintly, like a fading heartbeat.

The sound of scuffling shoes made her turn. Ren stood a few feet away, hands shoved deep in his pockets. Up close, she could see the faint constellation of freckles across his nose that only appeared after long hours in the sun.

"You signing up for anything?" he asked, his voice rough.

Hikari's mouth went dry. "I... the planetarium, probably."

Ren nodded, his dark eyes flickering to the sign-up sheet. "Kai's making me volunteer at the café booth."

A beat of silence stretched between them, filled only by the rustling of ginkgo leaves overhead. Hikari's heart hammered against her ribs.

"Your poem," she blurted out. "The one about the girl on the hill..."

Ren went very still.

"I look at the stars," she continued, voice barely above a whisper, "because my grandmother said they remember us when people forget."

The breeze carried the scent of coffee and cinnamon from his clothes as he took a step closer. "My old man taught me the constellations," he admitted, so quiet she almost missed it. "Before he left."

Hikari's breath caught. For the first time, she saw it—the boy who wrote poetry about the night sky, hidden beneath the leather jacket and rumors.

A loud crash shattered the moment. Yuuto Sakurada, the third-year who'd tormented Hikari since middle school, stood over a toppled trash can, his smirk sharp as broken glass. "Oops. Ghost Girl finally found someone to haunt, Kurosawa?"

Ren's shoulders tensed. "Walk away, Yuuto."

"Still playing the hero?" Yuuto's laugh was bitter. "Some things never change."

Hikari watched the silver thread at Ren's wrist tremble violently. Then, impossibly, a second thread appeared—faint and frayed, stretching toward Yuuto before dissolving like smoke.

The warning bell rang, scattering students to class. As Hikari turned to leave, Ren's fingers brushed against hers, sending a jolt up her arm.

"Meet me at the observatory after school," he murmured. "There's... something I want to show you."

---

**Later That Evening**

The old Starview Observatory creaked in the wind as Hikari pushed open the rusted door. Dust motes danced in the fading sunlight filtering through the domed ceiling. Ren stood by the antique telescope, its brass fittings gleaming faintly.

"You came."

Hikari's pulse fluttered. "You... wanted to show me something?"

Ren hesitated, then pulled a familiar leather notebook from his bag. "I wrote something new."

His hands trembled slightly as he opened to a fresh page. The poem was shorter than the others, just four simple lines:

*"They say the North Star never moves,*

*but the whole sky revolves around it.*

*Maybe that's why,*

*when you look at me, I feel still for the first time."*

Hikari's vision blurred. When she looked up, Ren was closer than before, close enough that she could see the flecks of gold in his dark eyes.

The silver thread between them—the one she hadn't even noticed forming—glowed brighter than any in the sky.

Outside, the first stars began to appear.