Behind The Masks

Rika at Home — The Weight of Silence

Rika sat at her desk, her math textbook open but untouched. The numbers and formulas blurred together as her eyes drifted over the page without focus. Her fingers idly tapped her pencil against the notebook, a soft, repetitive rhythm that matched the thoughts circling her mind.

Ren Takahashi.

Why was she thinking about him so much? He was just her seatmate—a quiet, withdrawn guy who kept to himself. A small part of her wished he would talk more, that he wouldn’t just fade into the background every day. Yet, she knew that it wasn’t that simple.

Ren wasn’t just quiet. He was distant. Closed off. Cold, maybe, but not in a harsh way. He didn’t push people away with cruelty—he just didn’t let them in. The more she thought about it, the more she realized how little she actually knew about him.

She wondered if she had crossed a line with him. Ever since her careless reaction to bumping into him, he had been avoiding her. His eyes never drifted her way anymore, and when they had to work on the project, his words were clipped and practical, devoid of any real emotion.

Yet, she couldn’t forget the way he had apologized. She didn’t know why he had, and part of her wondered if she had hurt him in a way she couldn’t see.

Her pencil stilled, the rhythm breaking.

“Rika, dinner is ready,” her mother’s voice called from downstairs.

She blinked, pulled back into the present.

“Coming!” she called back, her voice sharper than she intended.

She pushed her chair back, heading downstairs. The house was quiet—polished, organized, suffocatingly perfect. A home that seemed more like a display of order than a place of warmth.

⸻

Flashback: Dinner Table and the Golden Child

Dinner was as predictable as ever. Her parents praised her sister Emi for her recent achievements—another award, another accolade. Emi accepted the compliments gracefully, like she always did. Rika ate silently, pushing rice around her plate, half-listening to her mother’s praise.

“Rika, how are your grades this semester?” her mother finally asked, a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“They’re fine,” Rika replied softly.

“Just fine?” her father chimed in, his tone neutral but expectant. “Emi managed to stay in the top five of her class, even with all her extracurriculars.”

Rika’s grip tightened on her chopsticks. She glanced at Emi, who looked back with a composed, polite smile—perfect, polished, unattainable.

“I’ll do better,” Rika murmured, her voice barely audible.

Emi noticed the shift in Rika’s expression. “Hey, Rika, are you okay? You look distracted.”

Rika forced a smile, the same mask she wore every day. “Yeah, just tired.”

Emi’s gaze lingered for a moment, but she didn’t push. Why would she? Everything in Emi’s world was effortless—being kind, being smart, being everything Rika was expected to be.

Rika’s chest felt tight, the air suffocating. She finished dinner quickly, retreating to her room.

⸻

The Morning After — School and Aika’s Cheerfulness

“Rika!”

Aika’s voice broke through Rika’s thoughts as she entered the classroom. Aika’s energy was boundless, her grin wide as she adjusted her bag.

“Morning,” Rika managed, attempting a smile.

“Did you see this?” Aika waved a colorful flyer, her excitement evident. “The cultural festival’s coming up! I was thinking we should join something! Maybe a booth or a performance!”

Rika nodded absently, her thoughts trailing back to Ren. She wondered if he ever joined these events, if he ever felt the need to be part of the noise and excitement.

“By the way,” Aika added, nudging Rika’s shoulder, “you really surprised me with that art project. I had no idea you could draw like that! Are you secretly a prodigy or something?”

Rika laughed nervously. “Not really. Just… got lucky, I guess.”

“Still, you made it look so real! Like, I almost felt like the masks were staring back at me,” Aika continued. “Maybe I should start bragging about my famous artist best friend.”

Rika forced a laugh, but the weight of the lie twisted inside her. She hadn’t corrected anyone when they assumed the drawing was hers. Maybe it was because she didn’t want to complicate things. Maybe it was because she wanted to keep Ren out of it. Or maybe, deep down, she liked the validation.

As Aika continued talking, Rika’s gaze drifted across the room. Ren stood by Daiki’s desk, listening quietly as Daiki spoke. Daiki grinned at something, nudging Ren’s shoulder, and for a brief moment, Rika thought she saw a hint of a smile. It was subtle—almost imperceptible—but it was there.

Why did that small, fleeting expression make her heart feel heavy?

⸻

Lost in Thought — Zoning Out in Class

Math class crawled by slowly. Rika’s eyes glazed over her notes, but the equations didn’t stick. Her mind wandered—back to the presentation, the attention she had received, the quiet acceptance Ren had shown.

“Fujisawa, the answer?”

Her head snapped up. The teacher’s eyes were on her, expectant. Her pulse quickened—she hadn’t been paying attention. Her mind went blank.

Before she could stutter out an answer, she noticed it—Ren’s notebook was subtly angled toward her. There it was—34. The answer she needed.

“Um… 34,” she said, her voice barely steady.

The teacher nodded, moving on. Rika’s eyes lingered on Ren, her heart caught in her throat. His eyes remained downcast, his expression unreadable, as if nothing had happened.

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that he noticed her, that he helped her, yet she knew almost nothing about him.

⸻

Lunch Break — Aika’s Observations

Lunch felt quieter than usual. Aika chatted animatedly about the festival, Mayu’s dry sarcasm interjecting occasionally, but Rika’s mind was elsewhere. Her gaze drifted to Ren’s desk across the room, to the way his pencil moved across his notebook, precise and focused.

“Rikaaa,” Aika’s voice broke through, playful but probing. “What’s going on? You’re staring at him again.”

Rika’s face flushed. “I’m not.”

“Yeah, you are,” Aika teased, leaning closer. “Don’t tell me you’ve got a crush on the quiet artist.”

“It’s not like that,” Rika muttered quickly. Her heart pounded a little too loudly. “I’m just… curious.”

“About what?” Mayu added, her eyes sharp.

“Nothing,” Rika deflected, glancing away. “It’s nothing.”

But it wasn’t nothing. The more she denied it, the heavier it felt.

⸻

After Class — A Conversation That Almost Didn’t Happen

When the final bell rang, students began to disperse. Ren moved slowly, packing his things with his usual carefulness. Rika hesitated, her feet rooted to the floor.

“Takahashi.”

Ren glanced up, his expression unreadable. “Yes?”

Rika’s fingers tightened on her bag. “Thanks… for earlier. In math.”

Ren’s gaze lingered for a moment. “It’s nothing.”

His voice was neutral—neither dismissive nor warm. Just a simple acknowledgment.

Rika hesitated, her fingers fidgeting. “And… for the drawing. We got the highest score.”

Ren’s gaze flickered to her, briefly. “You’re good at speaking. Made it sound like it was yours.”

Rika’s throat tightened. He wasn’t accusing her—it was just a fact. But it stung anyway.

“Hey,” she started, the words slipping out before she could stop them. “There’s a drawing competition next month. You should join.”

Ren’s response was immediate. “No.”

She frowned. “You didn’t even think about it.”

“Didn’t need to.”

“Why not?”

Ren’s eyes met hers for a moment. “I don’t like people looking at my work.”

There it was again—his distance, that wall he kept up so effortlessly. She wondered if anyone had ever tried to see past it.

“Do you not care, or do you just not want to be noticed?”

Ren paused. For a moment, it looked like he might answer. But he just picked up her pen from the floor—something she hadn’t even noticed she dropped—and placed it on her desk.

“See you tomorrow.”

And then he was gone, leaving Rika staring after him, wondering why she wished he had looked back.