The classroom buzzes with noise as groups form around you. You’re about to call over a friend when the teacher’s voice cuts through:

“You’ll be working with Aoi Yukishiro.”

A name you haven’t heard in what feels like forever. Slowly, you turn — and there she is.

Aoi Yukishiro. Your childhood best friend.

She sits one row back, a notebook in her lap, and meets your gaze with a calm, unreadable expression. She stands up quietly and walks over.

“Hi,” she says softly. No smile. No warmth. Just the quiet echo of a voice you used to know better than your own.

She sits beside you, eyes flickering toward the window.

“Let’s get this over with.”

For a second, her fingers brush yours as she reaches for a pen. Her hand flinches slightly — not from dislike… but from something else.

A ghost of something familiar. Something forgotten. Something waiting.