Close Enough

Nothing changed all at once.

That was the strange part.

The next day, Haru walked into class and everything looked the same—the same seats, the same voices moving without sound, the same window light falling across his desk.

But it felt different.

Mio greeted him when she passed his desk. Not with words—just a small wave and a smile that lingered half a second longer than before.

Haru nodded back.

At lunch, Ren and Kenta were already seated when Haru arrived. He hesitated, tray in hand, ready to turn away.

Ken looked up and pointed to the empty seat nearby.

Here’s fine.

Haru paused—then sat.

No one made a big deal out of it.

Conversation flowed around him, not over him. When someone spoke, they faced him. When he didn’t catch something, they repeated it without frustration.

Mio sat across from him again. She didn’t sign. She didn’t try too hard.

She just talked… carefully.

As if that alone was an effort worth making.

Haru found himself eating more than usual.

After school, they lingered at the lockers.

Mio signed again—brief and imperfect.

How was today?

Haru smiled. “Good.”

It was the first time that answer felt honest.