Something That Doesn’t Go Away

It lingered.

That feeling.

Mio thought it would fade if she ignored it—like a passing thought, or a fleeting curiosity. But even as she sat in class, staring at the board, it stayed with her.

Haru’s laugh.

The way his eyes softened when he looked at her.

How natural it felt to walk beside him.

She tapped her pen against her notebook, restless.

This is bad, she thought.

This is really bad.

After school, everyone drifted off in different directions. Ken and Kenta left first, waving easily. Mio watched them go, then turned back to Haru.

For a moment, neither of them moved.

Then she signed, carefully.

Do you want to walk home together?

Haru paused—just slightly—before nodding.

Yeah.

They walked side by side, the street glowing orange with sunset. Their steps fell into rhythm without effort.

Mio stole glances at him when she thought he wasn’t looking.

She wondered what he thought about when he went home.

What music he liked.

Whether he ever felt lonely the way she suddenly did when he wasn’t near.

She pressed her lips together.

Why him?

Why now?

They stopped at a crosswalk. Red light.

A group of girls passed by, laughing loudly. One of them glanced at Haru, then at Mio—curious, assessing.

Mio felt something sharp twist in her chest.

She surprised herself by moving closer.

Not touching.

Just closer.

Haru noticed.

He looked down at her, confused—but not uncomfortable.

The light changed.

They crossed.

When they reached the corner where they usually separated, Mio slowed.

She didn’t want to go yet.

“…Haru,” she said softly, knowing he couldn’t hear but saying it anyway.

She signed.

I’m… glad we’re friends.

The word felt heavier than she expected.

Haru watched her hands, then her face.

He smiled—not polite, not casual.

Real.

Me too.

Her heart skipped.

As she walked away, she didn’t look back.

Because she already knew.

That feeling wasn’t going away.

And somewhere deep in her chest, a quiet realization was beginning to take shape—still fragile, still unspoken.

But real.