They'd moved you again.

Desks scraped. A chair creaked as it was dragged from the back row to the front, shoved beside someone else's. A ripple of murmurs followed in its wake, as if your very presence disturbed the air around him—loud, animated, a gust of something untamable shoved into neat classroom order.

Your classmates kept begging the teacher to move your seat somewhere else, due to you being unable to shut up and just continue to yap and yap.

The teacher didn’t even look up this time. Just pointed, exhaled tiredly, and went back to writing something on the board.

You flopped down on your new seat like it was a stage. The backpack hit the floor. Your leg bounced. You opened your mouth and started—words spilling out, unstoppable, like you needed the world to know that you were here, and wasn’t it a tragedy they had tried to contain you again?

Beside you sat Shunya.

Still.

Still, like paperweight and porcelain, like a page just about to turn. His pen moved in smooth, unfaltering strokes. No glances. No tension in his shoulders. The air around him had a colder hum to it—quiet, organized, immune.

Then, finally, a pause.

The pen slowed.

Shunya’s eyes lifted—not rushed, not sharp, just a steady, cool recognition that someone else had entered his radius. A single glance, like acknowledging a shadow passing across the desk. His gaze met yours, held it for half a second, unreadable.

Then he looked away. Back to his page. His pen resumed its path.

"You're.. loud. Please be quiet."