episode 15
1152 Words
Morning didn’t feel very different at school—but at home, it always did. Aru stood in front of the mirror, adjusting his hair carefully, making sure everything sat exactly the way it should. Not because he wanted perfection—but because at home, “almost right” wasn’t enough. “Aru.” His mother’s voice came from outside the room. Calm. Controlled. “You’re taking too long.” “Coming,” he replied quickly, fixing the last strand before stepping away.
At the table, everything was already set. His mother sat straight, her presence filling the space more than anything else. His father glanced up briefly, then back to his phone. “Sit properly,” his mother said as soon as Aru took his seat. “…I am.” “Not like that.” He adjusted slightly. “Better.” Silence followed, but it wasn’t empty—it was structured. Every movement had a place, every action had an expectation.
“You’ve been spending a lot of time outside,” she said after a moment. “…School,” Aru replied. “School doesn’t take that long.” “…Friends.” “Friends are fine,” she said, her tone steady. “But don’t forget what matters.” Aru nodded. “I won’t.” She looked at him for a second longer than usual, as if checking something unseen. “…Good.”
Nothing more was said.
And yet, something always lingered.
At school, everything shifted again.
The moment Aru walked into the classroom, the energy felt lighter. “Aruuu,” one of his friends called dramatically. “We missed you.” “It’s been one day,” he replied. “That’s too long.” “You’re all too much.” They laughed, pulling him back into the usual noise.
“So,” one of them leaned in, lowering her voice slightly, “paired activity yesterday… lunch… after school…” “…What about it?” Aru asked. “You tell us.” “There’s nothing to tell.” “That’s suspicious.” “Everything is suspicious to you.” “Because you’re acting normal.” “I am normal.” “Exactly.” Aru paused. “…That doesn’t make sense.” “It does to us.” He shook his head slightly. “You need better logic.” “We need better information.” “You’re not getting any.” “We will.” “…How?” “We’re creative.” “That’s concerning.”
Across the room, Rei sat in his usual place. Same posture. Same calm. But today, something small changed again. Not big enough for anyone else to notice—just enough that if you were paying attention, you would. He looked up once. Not randomly. Not absent-mindedly. Just once. Toward Aru. Then back down.
Routine.
Classes passed without much happening, but the small things kept stacking. A shared glance. A quiet “pass this” when papers moved across desks. Nothing obvious. Nothing that stood out loudly. But enough that it didn’t feel accidental anymore.
When lunch came, Aru didn’t even look back this time. He stood up and left. “He’s gone,” one of his friends said. “Again,” another added. “We’re losing him.” “We lost him,” someone corrected.
Under the tree, Rei was already there.
Sitting.
Waiting.
“You’re early again,” Aru said as he walked over. “…You’re just predictable now,” Rei replied. “Wow.” Aru sat down, placing his bag beside him. “So it’s my fault?” “…Partly.” “Unfair.” “Accurate.” “You really like that word.” “…Because it fits.”
They started eating in the same rhythm as before—simple, quiet, easy. “My friends are getting worse,” Aru said. “…About what?” “You.” “…Me?” “Yeah.” Rei paused slightly. “…What about me?” “They think we’re hiding something.” “…We’re not.” “I know.” “…Then it doesn’t matter.” “I told them that.” “…And?” “They didn’t believe me.” “…That’s their problem.” “That’s what I said.” Rei nodded once. “Good.”
A small silence followed. Not empty. Just calm.
Then—
“…Do your parents ask about your day?” Aru asked suddenly.
Rei looked at him for a second. “…Sometimes.” “What do you say?” “…Nothing much.” “Same.” Aru leaned back slightly. “They don’t really care about details.” “…Or maybe they don’t ask,” Rei said. “…Maybe.” Aru didn’t think about it much more than that. It was just a question. Just a moment.
That night—
Things were different.
Not for Aru.
Not at school.
But at home.
Aru’s parents sat in the living room. The house was quiet, the kind of quiet that only happens when something important is about to be said.
“…It’s getting harder,” his mother said.
His father sighed slightly. “…We knew it would.”
“…He’s growing up.”
“…Yes.”
A pause.
“…We can’t keep controlling everything forever.”
“…We’re not controlling,” she replied calmly. “…We’re protecting.”
Another silence.
“…From what?” his father asked.
She didn’t answer immediately.
Then—
“…From the truth.”
The words stayed in the air longer than anything else.
“…He doesn’t need to know yet,” she continued. “Not now.”
“…And later?” his father asked.
“…Later,” she repeated, her tone firm, “we’ll decide when he’s ready.”
“…Or when we are,” he added quietly.
She didn’t deny it.
“…Everything we’ve done was for a reason,” she said. “We gave him a life. A proper one.”
“…We gave him a version,” his father replied.
Her expression didn’t change.
“…It’s the only version he needs right now.”
Silence again.
Then—
“…And if it breaks?” he asked.
This time—
She didn’t answer at all.
Back in his room, Aru lay on his bed, scrolling through nothing in particular, completely unaware of the conversation happening just a few walls away.
“…Tomorrow,” he muttered softly.
No heavy thoughts.
No questions.
Just another day waiting.
Across the city, Rei sat by his window again, the same quiet space surrounding him.
“…Nothing changed,” he murmured.
And he was right.
Nothing obvious had changed.
School was the same.
Conversations were the same.
Days moved the same.
But somewhere—
Between strict rules and quiet freedom…
Between questions that weren’t asked and answers that weren’t given…
Between what was said—
And what wasn’t—
Two different worlds were slowly moving toward something neither of them understood yet.
- Writer
