The moment shattered like glass.
"Airi! There you are!"
Three girls appeared at the entrance to our quiet alcove, and Airi's hand jerked away from mine like she'd been burned. The warmth that had been building between us evaporated instantly, replaced by something that felt uncomfortably like guilt.
The girl in front was tall and elegant, with long black hair and the kind of mature presence that made her seem older than the rest of us. Behind her, a shorter girl with bouncing brown curls practically vibrated with energy, while the third hung back slightly, silver hair catching the light as she surveyed the scene with sharp eyes.
"We've been looking everywhere for you," the tall girl said, her voice gentle but concerned. Her gaze flicked to me, polite but curious. "Oh. Hello."
"Rika, I—" Airi started, then stopped, something flickering across her face that looked almost like panic.
"Hi!" The curly-haired girl bounced forward, completely oblivious to the tension. "I'm Miyu! Are you a poetry fan too? Airi's always trying to get us to read more, but I'm terrible with all the metaphors and—oh! Are you the guy from philosophy class?"
My face heated. "How did you—"
"Airi mentioned you," the silver-haired girl said dryly, stepping forward with arms crossed. "Said there was someone who gave an 'interesting answer' about reality." Her eyes narrowed slightly. "I'm Saya, by the way."
"Saya," Airi said quickly, something like warning in her voice.
But Saya just shrugged. "What? I'm being friendly."
"This is Yuuma," Airi said to her friends, then turned to me. "These are my... these are Rika, Miyu, and Saya."
The hesitation before 'friends' was so subtle I almost missed it. Almost.
"Well, Yuuma," Rika said with a warm smile that didn't quite reach her eyes, "it's nice to meet someone who shares Airi's love of literature."
"I was just exploring, actually," I said, acutely aware of how the dynamic had shifted. Where moments before there had been intimate connection, now there were invisible walls, territories being marked and claimed.
"Oh, exploring's the best way to discover new things," Miyu said brightly. "I found the most amazing cookbook in the home economics section last week. Did you know you can make cake in a rice cooker?"
"Miyu," Saya said with fond exasperation, "not everyone needs to know about your culinary experiments."
"Hey, my rice cooker cake was delicious!"
"It was... unique," Rika said diplomatically.
Despite the awkwardness, I found myself almost smiling. There was something genuine about their friendship, the kind of easy teasing that came from years of shared experiences. It made the hollow ache in my chest—the one I'd carried for so long I'd forgotten it was there—throb with recognition.
This was what I'd always wanted. People who knew your quirks and cared anyway.
But watching them together also made something else crystal clear: I was the outsider here.
"We were actually heading to grab some coffee," Rika said, her tone carefully casual. "Airi, want to come? There's something we wanted to talk to you about."
Airi glanced between her friends and me, and I saw the exact moment she made her choice. Her shoulders straightened slightly, and she closed the poetry book in her lap.
"Of course," she said, standing. Then, to me: "It was... nice talking with you, Yuuma."
*Nice talking with you.* Like we were acquaintances who'd shared pleasantries about the weather.
But as she gathered her things, her eyes met mine for just an instant, and I saw something there that contradicted her formal words. An apology, maybe. Or a promise.
"See you around," I said, trying to keep my voice neutral.
"See you," she echoed softly.
As they walked away, I heard fragments of their conversation drifting back:
"...seemed nice enough..."
"...sitting awfully close..."
"...since when does Airi read with strangers?"
The last voice was definitely Saya's, though I couldn't make out Airi's response.
I sat alone in the alcove for several minutes after they left, staring at the empty chair where Airi had been. The poetry book she'd been reading still lay on the side table, forgotten in her haste to leave with her friends.
I picked it up, flipping to the page she'd marked.
"In the space between
winter's final breath and spring's
first whispered promise—
there lives a moment of truth
too fragile for words to hold."
The tanka hit me like a physical blow. Because wasn't that exactly what had just happened? We'd found ourselves in that space between seasons, between strangers and something more, and the moment her friends arrived, it had become too fragile to survive.
My bracelet pulsed once, warm and sympathetic, like it understood.
I closed the book and headed downstairs, my mind churning.
"There he is!" Taichi's voice boomed across the first floor as I descended the stairs. "We were wondering if you'd gotten lost in the poetry section."
My four friends were clustered around a study table covered in textbooks and notebooks. Ren looked up from what appeared to be advanced calculus, while Kei was surrounded by philosophy texts. Kouta was doing something on his phone that was definitely not studying, and Taichi was building a tower out of eraser pieces.
"Find anything interesting up there?" Kouta asked with a knowing grin.
"Actually, yeah." I pulled out the chair next to Kei and sat down heavily. "I met Airi."
"And?" Taichi leaned forward eagerly.
"And her friends showed up."
The table went quiet.
"Ah," Ren said, pushing his glasses up. "That complicates things."
"Why does it complicate things?" I asked, though I had a feeling I already knew.
"Airi's friend group is..." Kei paused, choosing his words carefully. "Protective. They've been together since middle school, apparently. Very close-knit."
"Borderline territorial," Kouta added bluntly. "I tried to ask Miyu out last semester. Got the third degree from all three of them before she could even answer."
"What did they want to know?"
"Everything. My intentions, my dating history, whether I was 'serious' about her or just looking for fun." He shrugged. "Can't blame them, really. They care about each other."
"So what happened?"
"Miyu said she was flattered but not interested. The other two looked relieved." Kouta grinned. "No hard feelings, though. They're good people, just... protective."
I thought about the way Rika had smoothly extracted Airi from our conversation, how Saya had sized me up like she was calculating threat levels.
"Do you think..." I started, then stopped, not sure how to phrase the question.
"Do we think what?" Ren prompted.
"Do you think Airi wanted to leave?"
The question hung in the air for a moment.
"From what I saw," Kei said quietly, "she looked conflicted."
"Look," Taichi said, abandoning his eraser tower, "here's what I think. You obviously connected with her, right? Like, real connection, not just 'oh she's pretty' connection?"
I nodded, remembering the way she'd talked about poetry, about feeling like she was waking up. The way her hand had felt in mine.
"Then don't give up. But also don't try to force your way into their group dynamic. That never works."
"So what do I do?"
"Be patient," Ren suggested. "Show them you're not a threat. That you actually care about Airi, not just the idea of her."
"And how exactly do I do that?"
"By being yourself," Kei said simply. "The version of yourself that she connected with in the first place."
It sounded easy when he said it. But as I looked around at my friends—people who'd somehow accepted me instantly, completely, without question—I realized I wasn't even sure who that version of myself was.
All I knew was that for those few minutes in the poetry section, sitting across from Airi with sunlight in her hair and understanding flowing between us like water, I'd felt more real than I had in years.
Maybe that was enough to start with.
The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur of classes and conversation, but part of my attention kept drifting to Airi. I caught glimpses of her between periods—walking with her friends, laughing at something Miyu said, looking thoughtful during lectures.
Once, crossing the courtyard, our eyes met across the distance. She raised her hand in a small wave, and I waved back, my heart doing something complicated in my chest.
It was such a simple interaction. But somehow it felt like a secret message:
I see you. This isn't over.
By evening, I was back in my dorm room, staring out the window at campus lights beginning to twinkle in the growing darkness. The poetry book sat on my desk—I'd checked it out, telling myself I was genuinely interested in the literature.
I wasn't fooling anyone, least of all myself.
My phone buzzed with a message in the group chat my friends had apparently created:
Taichi: pizza night in the common room
Kouta: im in
Ren: I have studying to do
Kei: you always have studying to do
Ren: your point?
Taichi: yuuma you coming?
I stared at the messages, warmth spreading through my chest. When was the last time anyone had invited me to anything? When had I last had people who cared whether I showed up?
Me: on my way
As I grabbed my wallet and headed for the door, my bracelet pulsed once, gentle and warm. Like approval.
Or maybe like a promise that this was just the beginning.
The common room was cozy in the way that only spaces filled with friends could be. Someone had brought fairy lights that cast everything in a warm glow, and the smell of pizza mixed with the sound of laughter created an atmosphere of perfect contentment.
I was reaching for my third slice when Kouta's phone lit up with a notification.
"Oh, interesting," he said, scrolling through what looked like social media. "Looks like Airi posted something."
My hand froze halfway to the pizza box.
"What kind of something?" Taichi asked through a mouthful of food.
"Picture of that poetry book from the library. Says..." Kouta squinted at the screen. "'Sometimes you find exactly what you didn't know you were looking for.'"
The bracelet pulsed.
"Subtle," Ren observed dryly.
"Think she's talking about the poetry?" Kei asked innocently.
Kouta grinned and held up his phone so I could see the post. There was the book I'd been reading, photographed in soft evening light. But it wasn't the book that made my heart race.
It was the caption timestamp: posted just five minutes ago.
Which meant she was thinking about this afternoon too.
About me.
"So," Taichi said, clearly trying not to smile, "still think she wanted to leave with her friends?"
I looked around at their expectant faces—these people who barely knew me but somehow cared about my happiness anyway—and felt something shift inside my chest.
For the first time in longer than I could remember, tomorrow felt like a possibility instead of just another day to survive.
"No," I said quietly. "I don't think she did."
The bracelet pulsed once more, warm and certain.
Tomorrow, it seemed to whisper. Tomorrow, everything changes...