For the next few days, things seemed... better.
Ayumi smiled more often. Kaito noticed how her eyes lit up when he greeted her with newly learned signs. She even laughed once—a soft, breathy sound that he barely caught but instantly committed to memory.
But something still lingered beneath her smile.
It wasn't like before when she was distant or avoiding him. This time, it felt quieter—like she was still holding something back.
Kaito knew that feeling too well.
---
It wasn't until Friday evening that the chance to talk arrived.
They had finished studying at a local café, and Ayumi offered to walk with him toward the station. The air had turned cold, the kind that seeped through jackets and made breath visible.
They walked quietly, side by side, their steps falling into rhythm.
Finally, Kaito broke the silence.
"Something's bothering you."
Ayumi glanced up at him, her hand already halfway to her bag to pull out her notebook.
"No," Kaito said softly, reaching out to stop her. "Don't write it."
Ayumi frowned, unsure what he meant.
"You can tell me," Kaito added. "Whatever it is… I want to understand."
Ayumi hesitated, her fingers curling tightly around her bag strap. Then, slowly, she began to sign.
It's not that simple.
"I don't care," Kaito replied, his hands following the signs he'd worked so hard to learn. "I'll figure it out."
For a moment, Ayumi just stared at him—then she sighed and reached for her notebook after all.
She wrote slowly, carefully, as if choosing her words with great caution. When she finally turned the page toward him, Kaito's chest tightened.
No matter how close we get, there will always be a wall between us.
Kaito stared at the words.
A wall.
She had written it so plainly, yet he knew how much those words weighed on her.
"I…" He paused, unsure how to answer. "I don't see a wall."
Ayumi shook her head. She flipped the page and wrote again.
You can't see it… because you're on the other side.
---
They ended up sitting on a bench by the station. The streets were quieter now, the sky dimming into twilight.
Ayumi kept her gaze on the pavement. Kaito stared down at her notebook, rereading the words she had written.
"I know what that feels like," Kaito said finally.
Ayumi frowned, glancing up at him.
"I know what it's like to feel… separate," he continued. "To feel like no matter how much you try, there's still this gap that no one else seems to notice."
He paused, flexing his fingers as if the right words might spill out.
"When I was younger," he went on, "I lived overseas for a few years. Different language, different customs… I never really fit in. I was always just… that 'quiet Japanese kid.' Even when I came back here, I still didn't feel like I belonged. It's like... I don't know what world I'm supposed to be part of."
Ayumi's expression softened.
"I guess what I'm trying to say is…" Kaito met her gaze. "I know what it's like to feel... alone. Even when people are right beside you."
Ayumi lowered her eyes.
But you're not like me, she wrote. You can still talk. You can hear everything. You get to be part of things… just by being there.
Kaito shook his head. "You think it's that easy?"
He grabbed her pen and wrote back.
I've spent my whole life feeling like I'm speaking the wrong language — even when I'm using the right words.
Ayumi's breath caught. She hadn't expected that.
For a long moment, they didn't speak.
Then Ayumi lifted her hand, signing slowly.
Then... what do we do?
Kaito hesitated before answering.
We keep trying.
Ayumi gave a small, uncertain smile.
Even if we mess up?
Especially then.
The two of them sat quietly, shoulders barely brushing, as the streetlights flickered on around them.
For the first time in a long while, Ayumi didn't feel like she had to be on one side of the wall or the other.
Instead, it felt like she and Kaito were somewhere in between — figuring things out, step by step.
And somehow, that felt like enough.
---
To Be Continue