"Some things don't fall. They choose to drift—quietly, toward someone who might catch them."
The wind arrived early that morning.
It wasn't loud.Just present — moving through the campus like it belonged there, brushing hair out of faces, flipping pages not meant to be read.
Ren sat on the second step of the courtyard, sketchbook balanced on one knee.His pencil moved, but only slightly. He wasn't drawing a scene.
He was drawing a feeling.That was harder.
He tried to capture stillness, but the wind kept interrupting him — teasing his lines, tugging at the corners of the paper.
He didn't mind.
In fact, it gave him something to follow.
Hana had arrived earlier than usual.
She stood by the edge of the garden wall, pretending to tie her shoe.
In truth, she was watching him.Not like before — not from behind a book, or through the reflection of a window.
She simply watched. Quietly.
She had read the letter again last night. The one he didn't address to anyone.She told herself it wasn't hers.But it stayed folded in her desk drawer, underneath her poetry notebook.
That meant something, didn't it?
When Sayaka stepped onto the courtyard path, her eyes found them both immediately.
Ren on the steps.Hana by the wall.
And herself — in motion.
Always moving, never stopping.
She told herself she wasn't competing.That whatever was happening here didn't need her name written on it.
But even lies start to soften when repeated too often.
Then it happened.
As Ren turned a page, the wind pulled something free from his sketchbook —a small slip of paper, folded in quarters.
He reached for it instinctively, but the wind caught it faster.It tumbled up the steps, curved around the garden, spun past Hana's feet.
She froze.
Sayaka saw it too — a flash of white against stone.And before Hana could move, she stepped forward and caught it mid-air.
Just like that.
A petal caught in the wind.
Sayaka held it a moment too long.
Ren stood now, slow and quiet, stepping down toward her.
Their eyes met.
She offered the paper back, wordless.
Not a smirk. Not a knowing glance.
Just… a silent transaction.
Ren took it carefully, as if it were something fragile.
And in that second, something else passed between them —not the paper.A feeling.
Not attraction.Not yet.
But possibility.
Hana saw it all.
The moment. The exchange. The stillness in Ren's face after Sayaka turned and walked away.
And the way his fingers lingered just slightly over the crease of the paper when he unfolded it again.
It was a letter.
Not a drawing.
A piece of Ren no one was supposed to find.
Except someone just had.
The bell rang.
Students began to fill the courtyard like birds returning from silence.
Ren slipped the paper into his pocket.
Hana adjusted the strap of her bag, heart thudding against ribs like words she couldn't say.
Sayaka disappeared into the hallway.
And the wind — unbothered — danced across the ground, carrying petals and secrets alike.