The walk home from Emi's birthday party stayed with Kaito long after that night ended. The way Ayumi's hand fit in his — warm, light, and trusting — felt like the first unspoken promise between them. He hadn't needed words, hadn't needed signs. That moment was just them, holding on in the quiet, finding comfort in silence.
It made him realize something important: all the signs he was learning, all the phrases and gestures, were only part of the story. True communication — the kind that mattered — was made of moments like that. A touch on the wrist. A glance across a noisy room. The small smiles that didn't need translation.
But knowing that and living it were two very different things.
---
Kaito had been practicing more than ever. Every spare moment, he ran through the signs Ayumi had taught him, watching videos online and even borrowing a beginner's guide to sign language from the library.
He was getting better — or so he thought — until the first misunderstanding happened.
It was during lunch, just the two of them sitting under the courtyard tree where they always met. Ayumi had brought her camera, resting it on her lap between bites of her sandwich, and Kaito had been excited to show off a new sign he'd learned.
Beautiful, he signed, making a small circle near his cheek.
Ayumi's eyes widened, and her cheeks flushed a deep pink. She dropped her sandwich, her hands hovering awkwardly before she signed back — slowly, carefully.
What did you mean?
Kaito frowned. Beautiful, he repeated, confused.
Ayumi covered her mouth, her shoulders shaking with silent laughter.
That's close, but… you signed 'flirt.'
Kaito's face burned. "What?!"
Ayumi held up her phone, quickly typing a message to clarify.
The sign you used is a casual way to say someone's cute — like flirting. You probably meant this.
She demonstrated the correct sign — her hand sweeping gently away from her chin.
Kaito groaned, burying his face in his hands. "I swear I was just trying to say the tree was beautiful!"
Ayumi's laughter was silent but full, her whole body shaking with it. When Kaito peeked between his fingers, her smile — soft and real — made the embarrassment worth it.
---
That wasn't the last time his well-meaning efforts backfired.
Another afternoon, they were reviewing basic conversational phrases when Ayumi signed something quickly — too quickly for Kaito to catch. Instead of asking her to repeat it, he took a wild guess at the reply, signing what he hoped was something casual like Okay or That's good.
Ayumi's face went pale.
Why are you apologizing? she signed back, her brows furrowed.
Kaito froze. "Wait — I said sorry?"
Ayumi nodded.
Kaito groaned. "What was I supposed to say?"
She tapped her phone again.
I asked if you wanted to get coffee after school.
Kaito wanted to sink into the ground.
The misunderstandings piled up — little things at first, but enough to remind him just how much he didn't know. Sometimes, Ayumi's expressions were all he had to rely on — the slight narrowing of her eyes when he got something wrong, or the amused tilt of her head when he accidentally made a dirty joke without realizing it.
But through every mistake, Ayumi's patience never wavered.
---
One rainy afternoon, they sat in the covered walkway outside the school, waiting for the storm to pass. Kaito was reviewing his notebook, scribbling down notes from their last practice session, while Ayumi scrolled through her photos.
Every so often, she would nudge him gently, pointing to a particularly beautiful shot — raindrops caught in midair, the reflection of the sky in a puddle, Kaito's face partially hidden by his umbrella.
You see things differently, he signed.
Ayumi tilted her head, curious.
Through your camera. You notice things I never do.
Her fingers hesitated before replying. That's how I hear the world. With my eyes.
Kaito let that settle between them, the weight of her words sinking in. I want to learn to see it the way you do.
Ayumi's smile was small but radiant.
---
There were harder moments too — times when Ayumi's silence was heavier, her hands slower. Sometimes Kaito would ask a question, only to be met with a slight shake of her head and averted eyes.
What's wrong? he'd sign.
She would hesitate, then reply with something vague — Tired or It's nothing — but Kaito was beginning to learn that silence had layers. There was the comfortable silence they shared, the kind that needed no words, just presence. And then there was the silence that meant something was too difficult to say — even with hands.
It happened after a group study session, when Ayumi had stayed quiet the entire time despite Kaito's best efforts to keep her included. On the walk home, her steps were slower than usual, her gaze fixed on the pavement.
Did I do something wrong? Kaito signed.
Ayumi shook her head, but her hands said something different. Not you. Just… it's hard. Being between worlds.
It was something she'd hinted at before — how exhausting it was to exist in spaces where she was either overlooked or treated like a curiosity.
You're not between, Kaito signed. You belong. Even if people don't always see you. I see you.
Ayumi's hands fluttered, uncertain, before she signed back — slowly, carefully.
That's why it's okay. Even if I get tired, you make it easier.
Kaito didn't know how to reply to that, so he did the only thing he could — he reached for her hand, their fingers curling together as they walked, rain tapping softly against the pavement.
---
It wasn't perfect, this language they were building together. Kaito's hands were often too slow, Ayumi's signs too quick. There were jokes that got lost in translation and moments of silence where neither knew what to say.
But intention filled the gaps. Every touch, every glance, every hesitant sign carried weight — not because the signs were perfect, but because they were trying.
Communication isn't just about language, Ayumi signed one afternoon as they sat side by side, their hands close but not quite touching. It's about wanting to understand. Even when it's hard.
Kaito's reply was immediate, his hands still clumsy but certain. I want to understand you. Always.
Ayumi's smile was soft, her fingers brushing his wrist.
Me too.
And in that quiet space, between languages and worlds, they built something new — not a perfect translation, but a language entirely their own.
The language of hands.
The language of intention.
The language of them.
---
To Be Continue