Chapter 7 — “Rumors”

By the time the wisteria petals had withered, their relationship had become the kind people whispered about.

The halls of Saint Elora Girls’ Academy always smelled faintly of sea salt and disinfectant — clean, sterile, like a place where sins could be hidden behind white curtains. Yet no whisper stayed buried long here.

It began with small things.

A classmate saw Mizuki resting her head on Himari’s shoulder during lunch.

Another swore she heard them giggling in the empty art room after dark.

By the second week of June, the rumor had taken shape:

> “Himari Akane and Mizuki Sera — they’re more than friends.”

The girls didn’t deny it.

They didn’t confirm it either.

They simply existed, together — Himari walking with her umbrella held slightly to the side so it would cover Mizuki more, Mizuki carrying Himari’s books without being asked.

When they passed by, conversations quieted. Laughter dimmed.

Sometimes, Himari caught the stares. Sometimes she didn’t bother looking up at all.

---

That afternoon, after homeroom, a sharp voice cut through the murmurs.

“Hey, Himari-chan,” called Reina, one of the louder girls in class. Her hair was dyed a faint chestnut against school rules, and her smile was the kind that wanted an audience.

Himari turned. Mizuki was by her side, holding a small stack of art supplies.

Reina twirled a pen between her fingers. “Your little girlfriend’s cute. Do you feed her or just keep her for decoration?”

The girls around her giggled nervously.

Himari froze. Mizuki lowered her gaze, her grip tightening on the supplies.

“Reina-san,” Himari said, her voice calm but hollow. “That’s not very funny.”

Reina shrugged. “Sorry, sorry. Guess I’m jealous. She follows you around like a puppy. Must be nice having someone worship you.”

The laughter that followed was thin, sharp — a kind of cruelty that needed no reason.

Himari’s eyes darkened, but she smiled. “Some people worship what they don’t understand.”

The laughter stopped. The bell rang.

Mizuki said nothing as they left. She simply walked beside Himari in silence, her expression unreadable.

---

That night, the rain began again — a soft drizzle whispering against the dorm windows.

Himari wrote in her diary beneath the dim light of her desk lamp:

> “People talk too much. They always have.

But when they talk about us, it feels different.

Like they’re trying to touch something sacred.”

She closed the book, blew out the light, and slept.

---

The next morning, Reina’s desk was empty.

The teacher mentioned she was on a “temporary leave of absence.”

No explanation. No goodbye.

The class murmured for a few minutes, then moved on. Only Mizuki remained quiet, staring at the vacant chair.

After class, Himari asked softly, “You knew her?”

Mizuki shook her head. “No. But she used to stand outside the art room sometimes. Watching me.”

Her tone was casual, almost serene.

Himari frowned. “Did she say anything?”

“No.”

Pause.

Then, almost as if remembering something, Mizuki smiled faintly. “She said she liked wisteria. The color suits her.”

Himari didn’t know why, but the way Mizuki said it made her stomach twist.

---

Later, when Himari visited Mizuki’s dorm, she noticed the sketchbook lying open on the desk.

On one page was a drawing of Reina — unmistakably her. The detail was perfect: the tilt of her head, the mocking smile. But her eyes… were scribbled over with black ink until the paper tore.

Beneath it, in small, neat handwriting:

> “The petals fall when they’re touched too roughly.”

Himari stared for a long time.

Mizuki appeared behind her, voice soft. “You’re looking again.”

“Why did you draw her?”

Mizuki tilted her head, thinking. “Because she looked at me.”

“And?”

“And I didn’t like how she did it.”

Silence.

Himari wanted to ask more. But Mizuki’s tone was so calm, so certain, that every question died in her throat.

Instead, she said, “You shouldn’t draw people like that.”

Mizuki smiled faintly. “Then don’t look.”

---

That night, Himari dreamed of wisteria petals drifting across an empty classroom.

When she bent down to pick one up, it was wet — not with rain, but something thicker.

When she looked up, the petals were falling faster, staining the floor dark red.

---

The next morning, Mizuki waited by the gate, holding an umbrella big enough for two.

Her smile was soft. “You didn’t come down for breakfast.”

Himari took her hand. “I wasn’t hungry.”

“Then I’ll feed you later.”

They walked together through the gray rain, their reflections warped in the puddles.

And in the classroom, Reina’s chair stayed empty, her name fading quietly from attendance lists — like she had never existed at all.

---

That evening, as Mizuki sketched under the flickering lamp, Himari watched the ink dry and realized something:

She wasn’t sure whether she was afraid for Mizuki — or afraid of her.

Outside, the rain poured harder, washing away the last of the wisteria petals.