He doesn't fall, until you

Kai's World

Kai's POV

Silence is easy.

It doesn’t demand anything from you. Doesn’t ask questions. Doesn’t expect you to explain why your eyes don’t light up like they used to, or why you stopped showing up to things you used to care about. Silence just… is.

That’s why I like it.

I walk the hallways with my headphones on. Not because I’m listening to anything—most of the time there’s nothing playing. They’re just there to keep people out. It works. Nobody talks to the guy who’s already tuned out the world.

Except Jesse, but he doesn’t count.

“Yo, Kai!”

Speak of the devil.

He falls into step beside me, messy curls bouncing like they didn’t get the memo that today’s a ‘don’t talk to me’ day.

Which is every day.

“You didn’t answer my texts last night,” he says, too casually. “I sent you that new track from Aurora Avenue. The one with the violin drop you’d probably obsess over.”

I grunt. “Busy.”

“Doing what? Brooding? Sitting in your room staring out the window like you’re in a sad music video?”

I smirk, barely. Jesse’s annoying like that. He pokes holes in the quiet and acts like he doesn’t notice what bleeds out.

He’s also the only reason I’m not a total ghost here.

“I had to work on lyrics,” I lie.

That gets his attention. “Lyrics? You haven’t written anything in months.”

I shrug, keeping my face blank. Because it’s not true. I do write. I just don’t show anyone anymore. Especially not him. Especially not since Nathan.

The bell rings, slicing through our conversation. Jesse claps a hand on my shoulder.

“Wren’s class today,” he says. “Play nice with the new girl.”

I raise an eyebrow. “What new girl?”

“She’s transferring in today. Lina or something. I heard Wren’s pairing you two for the project.”

Great.

Just what I needed—a partner.

Ms. Wren has this thing about pushing me out of my comfort zone. She says collaboration is part of healing. Like she knows anything about that.

When I step into the music room, she’s already there—Lina.

She’s sitting on the far side of the room, her fingers tapping out some invisible rhythm on her notebook. She’s got this calm kind of energy, but her eyes scan the room like she’s trying to memorize everything, just in case.

Her hair’s tied back, messy strands falling out like she didn’t bother to fix it. Her jacket’s still half-zipped. Transfer student. Probably doesn’t know anyone yet.

She turns when I walk in. Meets my eyes without hesitation.

I look away first.

Ms. Wren introduces us, but I barely listen. I nod. That’s it. I’m not trying to be rude—I just don’t have anything to say. And if I start talking, I might say something real, and that’s a road I stopped walking a long time ago.

Lina sits beside me. Doesn’t speak. Doesn’t fidget. Just opens her notebook like she’s here to work, not talk.

Good.

I focus on the piano keys across the room. I know every scratch on that thing. Every note it can and can’t hit. I used to sit at it for hours—me, Nathan, and an idea. Now it just feels like a monument to someone who’s not coming back.

Halfway through class, Ms. Wren tells us to start brainstorming.

I hear Lina’s pen scribbling something, and then the sound of paper sliding across the desk.

> Hi. I’m not here to bother you. Just… here to make music.

I stare at the note.

Not clever. Not pushy. Just honest.

And for some reason, it sticks. Something about the way she wrote it—it’s like she sees through the wall and isn’t trying to tear it down. She’s just... waiting outside it.

I glance at her.

She’s not watching me. She’s back to her notebook, chewing on her pen like she’s solving a puzzle.

I don’t smile. I don’t write back. I don’t do anything.

But I don’t throw the note away either.

I put my headphones on again and press play this time. Not because I need the music, but because I want to hear something that isn’t this stupid ache in my chest.

It's a song Nathan and I started writing. We never finished it.

The melody drifts through me like smoke—half-formed, haunting.

Lina shifts beside me, and even though she doesn’t say a word, I know she hears it too.

I close my eyes.

Just for a second.

And pretend the world hasn’t changed.