Days passed, or maybe just repeated.
I sat in class like a shadow of myself.
Teachers spoke, whiteboards filled with scribbles, but it all sounded like whispers from a world I didn't fully belong to.
Until someone knocked on the classroom window from outside.
Beatrice.
With a blank expression and two cans of cold drinks in her hands.
I had no idea how she got past the school guards.
Or maybe… I was making it up again?
But when I quietly slipped into the hallway and met her on the school rooftop, the wind brushing against my skin felt too real to be a dream.
"You brought the tea?" she asked, sitting beneath the old water tank.
I held up the can she had handed me.
"Not this time."
She squinted at me.
"You know I hate tea. It's a good thing you don't bring it anymore"
I grinned.
"Not all friendships are built on shared likes."
She said nothing.
Only her gaze wandered to the sky — overcast, but not yet brave enough to rain.
"I used to think," she said, "that if I died, no one would notice until the smell spread."
I turned to her but didn't speak.
"Seriously," she continued. "I could disappear for three weeks, and maybe the only one who'd care is the stray cat in my backyard."
I looked down.
"I disappeared for three months. No one looked."
We stared at each other. No sympathy. No drama.
Just a quiet confession echoing between two people who understood, but were too broken to fix each other.
"Do you think we can still be saved?" I asked.
Beatrice looked at the sky.
"It's not us who can be saved… but the version of us that still wants to stay."
"I'm not sure he's alive anymore."
She gave a faint smile.
"Then we have to create a new one."
"I don't need it."
Beatrice looked at me for a moment then looked back up at the sky and replied, "You need it. You just don't realize it yet."
I was silent, unable to reply to his words. Just looking at the sky while silence surrounded us.
But he suddenly thrust his palm at me.
"Pay."
"Huh?"
"That drink... pay It."
"O-oh... tomorrow."
He smacked my head because he was annoyed.
---
Tomorrow at night, I sat at my study desk for the first time since I came back.
Scattered papers. An old pen, ink almost gone.
But my hand wrote.
I didn't know what — bad poetry, nonsense lines, names of people who'd never return.
But at least, it wasn't a dream.
Maria didn't come that night.
And strangely… I was thankful.
I opened the window.
Felt the night air — not warm, not cold, but present.
In the distance, I saw Beatrice sitting on her fence, gazing at the stars like a child still hoping for magic.
And for a moment, the world felt touchable again.
---
The next day, she gave me a book.
No cover. No title.
"What's this about?"
"I don't know," she said. "Could be about you."
I opened it — only blank pages.
"Empty."
She shrugged.
"Means you can start anywhere."
I laughed quietly.
And maybe, for the first time in a long while,
I wasn't afraid to start from nothing.
---
Two months later.
Since returning to school, the days passed slowly, like a river refusing to rush.
Beatrice and I sat at the same table almost every day, but our words remained few — like two people still learning how to open the doors to their own hearts.
She was still cold, sometimes sarcastic, but cracks began to show.
Now I knew — she wasn't the type to trust easily. Neither was I.
Time passed, and I was startled when the calendar flipped.
We were already in our second year of high school.
I sat in a new classroom, surrounded by unfamiliar faces, but Beatrice was still there — in the corner, with her books and ever-present headphones.
One day during break, I gathered the courage to speak.
"You still hate hanging out, huh?"
She threw me a lazy look. "Not hate. Just tired."
"You never talk much, Beatrice."
She gave a faint smile. "Maybe I'm not the talkative type. But you? You seem like someone with a complicated world of your own."
I chuckled. "Yeah, maybe. A world I don't even understand sometimes."
She nodded slowly, then said, "If you want, I could be your friend in that world."
I fell silent. Never expected her to say something like that.
It wasn't a perfect beginning.
But I knew every small step mattered.
I was learning that life isn't about running from the past or chasing the future.
Sometimes, just walking slowly — with someone by your side — is enough.
And that day, I felt a little more ready to move forward.
---
Our second year brought new rhythms, but one thing stayed the same: Beatrice and I always ended up sitting side by side.
Not many words at first, but a growing comfort.
One afternoon after school, I asked if she wanted to take a walk to the park near my house.
The air was warm, the sky softening into shades of orange.
"You know, I never understood why people love crowded places," I said as we walked slowly.
Beatrice shrugged. "Me neither. Crowds just make my head hurt."
We stopped at a quiet bench. I pulled out a small lunch I'd packed — a simple sandwich cut into small pieces.
"Try it," I said, offering her a piece.
Beatrice laughed and popped one into my mouth instead.
"You're like a kid," she said, smiling. But her eyes sparkled, as if surprised someone would share something so simple with her.
"If you don't want it, you don't have to eat it," I said.
"But I do," she replied, feeding me another bite.
We laughed together, without complicated words.
It wasn't a romantic moment, but something deeper — trust, slowly growing from tiny things.
Our days passed with small rituals — buying ice cream from a street vendor, sharing headphones to listen to favorite songs, joking about silly things we never told anyone else.
Sometimes I wondered why I felt so at ease.
Not because she was someone I needed to impress, or someone I needed.
But because near her, I felt safe.
Without needing to be anything more than who I already was.
Beatrice, with all her imperfections, became a friend who never judged.
I knew our journey was still long.
But this step, this small walk side by side, was a real beginning.
---
I don't know when we started walking home together.
She never invited. I never asked. But each time the bell rang, our feet somehow knew the way: past the school gate, turn right by the bakery, then pause at a tiny park no one else really visited.
There, we shared egg sandwiches — half-price because we always arrived too late.
"I don't get why you always give me the middle part," she said once, chewing slowly. "The crust is fine too, you know."
I offered her my piece. "If you like the crust, take it."
She glared, then shoved the piece into my mouth.
"Because you're too nice, you get to eat what I didn't want."
I choked a little, coughing, and she laughed — a small laugh, rare and fleeting. But when it came, it felt like morning sunlight on a long-clouded day.
---
We often took the bus to nowhere. Sometimes to a far-off station, got off, then caught another bus back. Just to watch the world move, maybe — or to feel like we were moving too.
"I like strangers," she said once, resting her head against the window. "They don't know who you are. They don't care that you almost disappeared."
I looked at her profile. "But they'll never know you like mint ice cream mixed with coffee. And that's tragic."
She rolled her eyes.
"Buy strawberry again and I'm throwing it out the window."
I raised my hand in mock oath. "By the driver's honor, I won't repeat that sin."
---
The rainy season came quietly. We sat under a leaky bus stop roof, stubbornly staying because Beatrice liked the sound of water dripping through tin.
"If the world could be cleaned like this every time it rains, that'd be nice," she said, face tilted upward, letting a few drops hit her cheek.
I shook my head. "If the world was always clean, we'd have no reason to hide out under a leaky roof like this."
She looked at me. Then held out her cold juice bottle.
I drank.
"Sharing bites and swapping drinks. We look like some weird couple who doesn't know they're just friends."
I laughed. And so did she — quickly hiding her face under her hoodie.
---
Time stretched. Days passed without urgency. No "exam tomorrow" or "we must graduate with honors." We lived between pauses.
Sometimes we sat in the library, reading random books and making dumb comments.
Sometimes we walked home guessing cloud shapes.
Sometimes we just sat in silence — but never awkward.
And slowly, the world felt a little less heavy.
---
One day, we sat on a park bench after buying takoyaki that was still too hot.
Beatrice opened the box, then suddenly fed me one.
"Careful, hot!" she warned — too late.
"Aaaah! My tongue! You're evil!" I squealed like a child.
She burst into laughter — loud and real, until she coughed and almost dropped the rest.
People walked past and stared. But we didn't care.
I looked up at the sunset, soft orange and fading.
And for the first time in a long while…
…I felt like I was in the right place.
With the right person.
Not to fall in love.
But to heal.
---
Half a year passed.
We still sat next to each other. Not by accident. I'd switched seats. She threatened to gouge my eyes out if I touched her desk again. But she never moved.
Beatrice now had shorter bangs, and I'd started growing my hair out a little — just because she said my head looked too "round" when it was neat.
We bickered about group projects, laughed in the computer lab, dozed off during history class. Beatrice stayed Beatrice — sharp and indiffer
ent, but the only one who could pull me out of myself.
And me?
I was still fragile, still haunted by nightmares, still silent on long nights.
But when I glanced to my left,
and saw her doodling ugly cat drawings in my notebook, saying they looked just like me…
I knew I wasn't alone.
Not anymore.