The school smelled like pencil shavings, floor wax, and mild chaos.
It was Monday.
But not just any Monday — it was the start of the Cultural Festival Week. Which meant an explosion of poorly coordinated decorations, students in varying degrees of panic, and an entire gymnasium held hostage by the Drama Club's ambitious plan to stage Romeo and Juliet... in space.
Ayame wandered through the hallway, blinking at a poster titled:
**"Juliet, But She's a Cyborg Assassin."**
Kael appeared beside her, carrying a half-constructed cardboard moon. "So, uh. We're in charge of booth decoration for Class 3-B. Do you think stars made from *real* stardust would be subtle or a cause for expulsion?"
"No actual cosmic materials," Ayame warned. "Or musical parasites. Or sentient glitter."
"Ugh, you're no fun," he muttered. "You've changed."
Ayame gave him a mock glare. "I *changed* the multiverse. I think I earned the right to enforce a glitter ban."
They both grinned.
Across the hall, Liora stood at a noticeboard, pinning up a flyer.
Ayame stepped closer and saw it:
**"Stories Across Realms: A Short Story Collection by Class 3-B"**
Kael squinted. "Wait. Are we—are we publishing?"
Liora nodded, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Everyone has to write something. Doesn't have to be true. Doesn't have to be big. Just… real."
Ayame felt a flutter in her chest. "Is that allowed?"
Liora tilted her head. "Since when did we care about that?"
Their classroom buzzed with energy. Paper, paint, and markers littered every surface. Yuki and Hana were arguing about table placement while another student tested out a small projector shaped like a rocket.
In the corner, a boy strummed a guitar — aimlessly, like he didn't know where the melody wanted to go.
Ayame paused.
That *sound.*
She walked over. "What are you playing?"
He shrugged. "Something I dreamed last night. It's weird. I don't even know how to play this well. My fingers just… moved."
Ayame exchanged a glance with Kael.
He stepped forward. "Can I try?"
The boy handed over the guitar.
Kael strummed once — softly.
The note lingered longer than it should have.
Just a second too long.
The students around them didn't notice.
But Ayame did.
And Liora.
Kael looked up. "That wasn't just me, right?"
Ayame shook her head. "No. That was… resonance."
Liora whispered, "It's spreading."
---
At lunch, they gathered outside beneath a cherry blossom tree. The breeze carried petals that danced like they remembered from the forest — a dance that spoke.
"We're not the only ones touched by the melody," Liora said. "Others heard fragments. In dreams. In songs. In feelings they can't explain."
Kael opened his notebook. "So the story's leaking into the cracks."
Ayame nodded. "Good."
She reached into her bag and pulled out a folded sheet. On it: her story.
The one she wrote for the class anthology.
It began:
**"There once was a girl who believed the stars were silent. Until one whispered her name."**
Kael looked over her shoulder. "You're really doing it?"
"We all are," she said. "One page at a time."
The bell rang again.
They stood, but something lingered in the air — not magic, not exactly. Just the
echo of something bigger than them, resting quietly in the ordinary.
A reminder.
That some stories don't need to scream to be remembered.
---