Stitches in Silence

The announcement came midway through second period, cutting through the hum of pencil scratches and daydreams.

“Good morning, students. This is your Student Council President, Reine Ichihara. The Spring Exposition Gala will be held three weeks from today. This year’s theme is Legends Reimagined. Proposals are due by Friday. Participating segments include the fashion showcase, performances, and the art exhibit. That will be all.”

As her voice faded from the speakers, the classroom murmured to life.

Aiko didn’t move.

She stared at the edge of her desk like it had whispered something only she was meant to hear.

Legends Reimagined.

She remembered galas-velvet curtains, bright flashes. A mother adjusting the hem of a gown before pushing her onstage.

She remembered walking runways too early, smiling too wide, and the strange silence backstage that always followed applause.

And then...

She remembered being the star.

And she remembered the fire. The metal. The arms around her as the car crumpled.

A voice-gentle and firm-“Hold on. I’ve got you.”

The last time she saw him alive.

Aiko blinked away the ache.

She was Aiko Minazuki now. A name that came with no expectations. No legacy. No spotlight.

And that was exactly how it needed to stay.

Later that day, Haruki caught up to her on the rooftop staircase.

“You heading to your hiding spot again?” he asked casually, hands in his pockets.

“Why, you following me now?”

He shrugged. “Roof’s quiet. And you don’t talk unless you feel like it. That’s rare.”

They stepped out into the wind. The sun sat low, soaking the concrete in a sleepy golden hue. Aiko walked toward the railing, resting her hands on the cool metal.

“You’re quiet,” Haruki said, standing beside her.

“You say that like it’s a flaw.”

“I didn’t,” he said simply. “It just means you’re thinking things no one else hears.”

She glanced at him. “And what makes you think you’re allowed to hear them?”

“I’m not,” he said. “But… I’ll still be here. Just in case you ever want someone to listen.”

Aiko stared at him for a long moment. Then, without thinking, let her eyes close for a second.

She didn’t realize how tired she was of pretending not to feel anything.

Haruki didn’t push. He never did.

And somehow, that made her want to tell him everything.

Even if she never could.

In the student council room, Reine scrolled through her messages but wasn’t really reading any of them.

Her thoughts had drifted again.

To that new girl.

Aiko Minazuki.

There was nothing wrong with the name. It was the kind that disappeared in a crowd.

But her face…

There was something about her that clung to the edges of Reine’s memory. Something she couldn’t name.

“She’s too calm,” Reine said aloud.

One of the other members looked up. “Who?”

Reine didn’t respond directly. Just kept her gaze steady.

“She has the look of someone who’s lost everything… and still knows more than she’s saying.”

She didn’t know who Aiko really was.

But Reine’s instincts were always sharp.

And Aiko made them itch.

That evening, Riku wandered through the quieter side of the library. He wasn’t sure why he came there-maybe because it was the only place that felt untouched by noise.

He didn’t mean to find her. He came looking for silence, not ghosts.

He pulled out an old box of archived magazines from the Gala shelf, bored more than anything.

He flipped through one, then another-until his hand stopped.

A full-page spread of a girl, mid-laugh, spinning across a runway stage. The fabric around her flowed like water. Her smile was soft, unposed. Free.

He knew that face.

His fingers trembled over the page. “Yuna,” he whispered-like speaking her name might undo time itself.

He hadn’t said her name in years.

Not since the day everything broke in his world.

And then… nothing. Just silence.

Back in her dorm, Aiko sat on the floor by her bed, her arms wrapped loosely around her legs. The room was quiet. The kind of quiet that made even your breathing feel too loud.

The locket stayed beneath her pillow.

She didn’t need to hold it tonight. She could still feel the imprint of it against her skin.

So many things had been taken from her.

And the people who did it now lived under spotlights she once called home.

But she had survived in a world that thought she was dead.

She looked out the window.

The stars didn’t care who she used to be.

Neither did Haruki. And for once, neither did she.

Maybe that’s why being near him didn’t feel like remembering.

It felt like healing slowly stitching herself back together, in silence.

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