Creative Writing class wasn't usually this quiet.
Normally there were soft murmurs, the gentle clack of laptop keys, someone trying not to fall asleep, and Kai occasionally chewing gum way too loudly. But today, the silence felt... heavy.
Because today was reading day.
Mr. Nakamura had asked each student to submit an anonymous piece titled "The Thing I'm Afraid to Say." No names. No explanations. He promised to pick a few to read aloud—"Only the ones that feel real."
The class wasn't ready for how real things were about to get.
---
"Alright," Mr. Nakamura said, lifting a stack of printed submissions. "I'll read three today."
Everyone sat up straighter.
Kai leaned over and whispered to Leo, "Did you submit yours?"
Leo nodded, not looking up.
Kai gave him a thumbs-up. "Respect."
Mr. Nakamura held the first page. "Here's one called Paper Heart."
Leo's breath hitched.
That was his.
He hadn't titled it when he saved it to the class folder. But apparently the teacher had given it a name.
Then Mr. Nakamura began to read.
> "I like someone who doesn't know how much she makes my world tilt just by smiling."
"She's graceful, but not in the obvious way. She's calm, not because she lacks emotion, but because she carries too many and doesn't know how to let them spill."
"I admire her quiet. I crave her presence."
"I'm afraid of saying this, because if she knew, and didn't feel the same, I might lose the peace she unknowingly brings me."
"But if I don't say it... maybe I'll keep drowning in maybe's."
A few students whispered to one another.
Yuki, who had been sketching random cats in her notebook, looked up.
Rin froze.
She knew that voice.
Not Mr. Nakamura's, but the voice behind the words.
---
The teacher kept reading.
> "There's another girl too. She's fire and sparks and noise and laughter. She pulls me out of my head, throws me into chaos, and makes me forget why I was ever afraid."
"She's brave in ways I'm not. She says the things I bury. But sometimes, I feel like she's talking to the world, not to me. And I don't know if I'm part of the audience or part of her story."
"Maybe I'm selfish for feeling something for both of them."
"Maybe I'm just lost."
Yuki's hand gripped the edge of the desk.
Kai had stopped chewing his gum.
Rin didn't move.
Her chest was rising slowly.
Then came the last lines.
> "But if either of them ever needed me—I'd run. No matter the distance."
"Even if they walked away after, I'd still show up."
"Because some feelings aren't about being returned. Some are just about being true."
Silence.
Absolute, stunned silence.
Mr. Nakamura looked up. "That's all."
Then, after a beat: "Whoever wrote this—thank you."
Leo didn't breathe.
Kai side-eyed him. His lips moved silently: That was you, wasn't it?
Leo didn't nod. Didn't shake his head. Just stared ahead.
Then he felt it.
Eyes on him.
He looked up—and met Rin's gaze.
Her lips were parted slightly. Her expression unreadable. But her eyes...
They were filled with recognition.
---
After class, Rin didn't say anything.
She packed her things, stood up slowly, and walked out.
Leo didn't chase her.
But he wanted to.
---
Outside, Rin walked aimlessly.
She ended up by the koi pond behind the library. The place no one visited unless they were trying to hide or think.
She sat on a bench and pulled her knees to her chest.
She replayed the words over and over.
> "I admire her quiet."
> "If she knew and didn't feel the same..."
> "Some feelings aren't about being returned."
She pressed her fingers to her chest.
What was this ache?
She thought she understood what she felt for Leo.
But now... now she wasn't sure if she was the girl who brought peace.
Or the one who brought sparks.
She didn't want to compete.
But she didn't want to lose, either.
And worst of all...
She wasn't sure if Leo had already made a choice.
---
Back in the classroom, Yuki stood by the window, arms crossed.
Kai walked up beside her.
"So," he said.
"So," she replied.
"That was... heavy."
"Yep."
"You okay?"
"Not really."
Kai didn't joke.
Didn't grin.
He just stood beside her.
And that, somehow, helped.
---
Leo finally left the classroom long after the others had gone.
He didn't know where to go.
Or what to say.
He'd written the truth.
And now, everything was different.
He just wasn't sure if that was good or bad.