I got there early. Not because I was excited or anything—I just didn't want to walk in late and have everyone look at me.
I've already attracted too much attention just from being here anyways.
Being early meant I could sit wherever I wanted, keep my head down, and pretend to be invisible.
The multipurpose room was plain. A couple of foldable tables had been pushed together in the middle. Plastic chairs. Fluorescent lights. A whiteboard that still had some ghostly math problems scribbled faintly across the top.
I sat near the end of the table, took out my notebook, and opened to a blank page.
And then I waited.
Other students started filing in.
A few from my class, a few from 2-B.
I recognized faces but not names. The kind of people you see in the hallway and forget ten seconds later.
Then she walked in.
I didn't know her name. But I recognized the energy.
She was talking with her friends as she entered, hand waving mid-story, a laugh escaping between words.
Her presence filled the room before she even sat down.
And for some reason, my chest tightened when I heard her voice again—the same voice from yesterday, from the other side of the wall.
She sat across from me.
Not directly. Diagonally.
But close enough that I could hear the way she sighed as she pulled her chair in.
"Alright, settle down," the teacher said, stepping in with a clipboard and a small stack of folders. "Each pair of classes will be responsible for one major event. You all drew the short straw—stage showcase."
Someone groaned.
I didn't blame them.
"That means decorations, scheduling, tech, scripts—the works," she continued. "We'll be breaking you into subgroups. You'll each take charge of one section. Hoshino, Nakashima—you're on set design."
My head turned automatically. She was already looking at me.
So that was her name.
Nakashima.
"Cool," she said, giving me a little nod and a half-smile. "Guess we're stuck together."
I nodded back, then immediately looked down at my notebook. I could feel the back of my neck getting warm.
We broke into groups, and I ended up across from her again, now at a smaller table with just four of us. She took the lead, flipping to a clean page in her notebook.
"Okay, so set design," she said. "We probably need a theme first, right?"
I glanced up.
She was looking at me.
Waiting.
People usually didn't wait.
"Maybe something simple," I said quietly. "Like a city street at night. Easy to light."
"Ooh, I like that," she said, scribbling it down. "Kinda moody. We could hang paper lanterns. Maybe silhouettes of buildings."
She looked genuinely excited.
And I... didn't hate it.
I don't usually speak unless I have to. But she made it feel less like I had to and more like I could.
The rest of the meeting went by in a blur of ideas and sketches.
I mostly listened.
But every so often, she'd glance my way and ask, "What do you think?" and I'd answer.
And she'd listen.
By the end of the meeting, I had a page of notes and a strange, unsettled feeling I couldn't name.
I walked out a little slower than usual.
And for the first time in a while, I didn't feel like I had to rush back to the dark safety of my room.
Maybe I wasn't just invisible today.
Maybe I was actually there.