A Silent Dream

 Unspoken Observations

The classroom was alive with the usual midday energy—lunchboxes opening, chatter filling the air, the occasional scrape of chairs as students shifted around.

Rika Fujisawa sat at her desk, resting her chin on her hand as she absentmindedly tapped her fingers against the surface. She wasn’t paying full attention to her friends’ conversation, not really.

Because, for some reason, her eyes kept drifting.

To her right, Ren Takahashi sat as he always did—quiet, focused, seemingly unfazed by the world around him. He wasn’t eating, just flipping through his notebook, his pencil moving occasionally as if sketching something between thoughts.

She didn’t stare for long. Just quick glances, stolen moments.

It wasn’t intentional.

But it was happening.

She exhaled softly and turned back to her friends, pushing the thought aside.

⸻

Aika’s Sudden Nervousness

Aika Tanabe sat across from Rika and Mayu Sakamoto, chatting animatedly as she picked at her lunch. She had been going on about something—Rika wasn’t entirely sure what—when the door slid open, and Daiki Hayashi walked in.

The change was instant.

Aika stiffened just a little. Not dramatically, but enough.

Rika caught it immediately, and so did Mayu.

The two exchanged glances before slowly turning their heads toward Aika, who was suddenly very interested in her rice.

Mayu was the first to speak, her voice as dry as ever. “Oh?”

Aika nearly choked. “What? What ‘oh’?”

Rika smirked, leaning forward slightly. “Aika.”

Aika pointed her chopsticks at them, eyes wide. “You both better shut up right now.”

“Oh, we didn’t say anything,” Rika said innocently, resting her chin on her hand. “But you’re acting kinda weird.”

“I’m not.”

Mayu quirked an eyebrow. “You are.”

Aika huffed, but she wasn’t fooling anyone.

Rika glanced toward Daiki, who was now sitting a few seats away, talking casually with Ren. It wasn’t like he had done anything—just walked in and sat down. And yet, Aika’s entire demeanor had changed.

It was painfully obvious.

Rika grinned. “You like him.”

Aika dropped her chopsticks.

“I—what—NO!” She scrambled to pick them up, flustered. “That is—that is NOT—”

Mayu sipped her drink. “It is.”

Aika groaned, covering her face. “I hate both of you.”

Rika and Mayu only smirked.

Aika glared at them. “If either of you say anything, I swear—”

“We won’t,” Rika assured her. “But…” She shot a glance toward Daiki. “You should probably try talking to him sometime.”

Aika groaned again, muttering something under her breath.

Rika just chuckled.

For now, she let it go.

⸻

After Class – A Conversation That Felt Different

The school day passed without much incident, and soon, the final bell rang.

Rika stretched lightly before glancing at Ren beside her. He was still at his desk, packing up his things at a steady, unhurried pace.

She hesitated for only a second before speaking.

“…Takahashi.”

Ren paused, looking up at her.

His gaze was always the same—calm, unreadable. But now that she was paying attention, she realized it wasn’t cold. Just… distant.

She leaned her elbow on the desk. “You said yesterday that you’d come up with something for the project.”

Ren gave a small nod, then reached into his bag. Without a word, he pulled out his notebook and flipped it open to a page filled with sketches.

Rika’s breath caught slightly.

The details. The precision. The way the lines flowed together effortlessly.

It was incredible.

She didn’t say anything right away, just studied the sketches—various interpretations of faces, some realistic, some abstract. Each one carried an emotion, despite the lack of color.

“…Wow.”

It wasn’t a forced compliment. It just slipped out, completely natural.

Ren blinked, slightly taken aback.

Rika looked up at him, her expression genuine. “You’re really good at this.”

Ren’s fingers tightened slightly on the edge of his notebook. He wasn’t used to this—someone looking at his drawings this closely. Someone really acknowledging them.

Most people didn’t care. Or didn’t notice.

Not because they were mean, but because he never showed them.

“…Thanks,” he muttered after a pause.

Rika didn’t miss the slight shift in his posture. The way he didn’t quite meet her eyes for a second.

But she didn’t push it.

Instead, she pointed at the sketches. “So, which style are we going with?”

Ren exhaled quietly, regaining his usual composure. “That’s what I wanted to ask. Abstract? Realistic? Something symbolic?”

Rika tapped her chin in thought. “Something meaningful. It has to connect to the theme.”

Ren nodded. “Masked faces, right?”

“Yeah.” She glanced at him. “It’s about people who hide their real emotions. They show something different on the outside, but inside, they’re… not what they seem.”

Ren was silent for a moment.

Then, almost absentmindedly, he murmured, “Yeah. I get that.”

Rika tilted her head slightly, but before she could say anything, he closed his notebook. “I’ll work on something tonight. I’ll show you tomorrow.”

She studied him for a moment longer, then nodded. “Alright.”

With that, their conversation ended.

But the feeling lingered.

⸻

A Sketch That Meant More Than It Seemed

Ren walked home alone, his bag slung over one shoulder.

The air was cool, the sky painted in soft shades of dusk.

His mind wandered as he pulled out his notebook, flipping back to the sketches.

Masked faces.

People who don’t show their true emotions.

His pencil hovered over the page as his thoughts drifted.

He hadn’t always been like this.

There was a time when he was different.

When he was open.

When he trusted.

He pressed the pencil down, sketching a new face—one that seemed familiar yet distant.

The mask was cracking.

He didn’t know why he drew it that way.

But for some reason… it felt right.

A Memory in a Dream

A soft golden light spilled into the empty classroom, casting long shadows across the wooden desks. It was quiet—peaceful, even. The kind of quiet that made everything feel warmer, more familiar.

Ren sat by the window, his pencil in hand, lazily sketching something in the margins of his notebook. Beside him, she was there. Her voice was light, carrying a softness he hadn’t heard in a long time.

“You’re really good at this, you know?” she said, leaning over slightly to glance at his sketch.

Ren glanced at her, feeling the usual calmness he had around her. “It’s nothing special.”

She huffed, crossing her arms. “You always say that.” Then, with a teasing lilt, “If I could draw like you, I’d never shut up about it.”

A small chuckle almost escaped him. It was easy with her—effortless, natural. Maybe that was why he—

The thought cut off as the scene suddenly shifted.

The warmth faded.

Ren wasn’t in the classroom anymore.

Now, he was standing outside, just past the school gates. The light was different—cooler, almost distant. The faint chatter of students lingered in the air, but his focus was drawn to something else.

To her.

She was just a few feet away, standing beneath a tree, her back turned toward him. But she wasn’t alone.

A guy stood in front of her, laughing about something. And then—

She laughed too.

Not the casual, friendly kind. But something softer. Warmer. A kind of laughter Ren had never heard from her before.

He took a step forward.

And that’s when he saw it.

The way she looked at him.

Not at Ren. At him.

It was subtle—just the smallest tilt of her head, the light in her eyes, the way she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, almost shyly. It was so simple. So natural.

And yet—so different.

“You’re different from other guys.” Her voice was light, affectionate. “With you, it just feels real.”

Something in Ren’s chest tightened.

He wanted to move, to step closer, to say something—but his body wouldn’t respond. The distance between them suddenly felt heavier, stretching impossibly far.

He stood there, silent, watching as the moment slipped further from his grasp.

And then—

Darkness.

Ren’s eyes snapped open, his breath steady but his body stiff. The ceiling of his room greeted him, dull and unmoving. His heart wasn’t racing, but there was something else—a dull ache. Not sharp. Not unbearable. Just… there.

Like an old scar.