Days blur into one, like a smudged stain. The passage of time means nothing to me. The world keeps turning, but I am still stuck in my own. I have no desire to interact with it or anyone in it. People remain data points on a graph. They're all the same — nothing more than variables in an equation I don't need to solve.
And yet... she is still here.
Yuzuki.
I still don't understand why. Why does she keep talking to me? Why does she insist? I don't respond to her questions, and still, she keeps going. As if I am not invisible to her. As if my indifference doesn't bother her.
One morning, she turns to me with a slightly annoyed expression.
— Kaoru, — she starts, her voice soft but curious, — do you ever think about anything other than... numbers?
I glance at her briefly. She's looking at me, waiting for an answer. Her eyes are bright, full of sincerity. She doesn't fear my coldness. Almost as if she's trying to understand it, figure me out.
I look back out the window, my gaze distant.
— I think about patterns, — I reply, my voice flat, emotionless. — I observe. I analyze. Everything can be reduced to patterns. People. Situations. The world. It's all just math.
She doesn't answer right away. I think that's the end of it. But she just keeps looking at me. And then I realize something strange. Her silence isn't like mine. It doesn't press, doesn't demand a response. She just... waits. It's silence, but different. It makes me feel something. And I don't like it.
— You know, — she says after a pause, her voice almost too soft, — sometimes... you don't need to cling to patterns. Sometimes, you can just let yourself feel.
I laugh, but the laughter sounds hollow.
— Feel? I don't have time for that.
I don't know why I say it. I don't even believe the words. But they come out.
She tilts her head slightly, her eyes narrowing in thought.
— But what happens when you don't feel anything? When you're just... indifferent?
I don't answer. Why should I? I've lived this way for too long, and it suits me. No emotions. No distractions. Only clear, perfect logic.
But the longer I'm near her, the more I feel something... cracking inside of me. I don't want to admit it. I don't want to feel it. But it's there. In every quiet conversation. In every moment of silence.
She speaks more and more, and I listen. Not because it matters to me, but because her words are different. They don't follow the same pattern of predictable, meaningless chatter I'm used to. Her words... they feel real.
I don't know what to do with that.
One day, as we sit in class, I notice her quietly muttering something under her breath. I don't hear the words, but something in the way she communicates makes me turn to her again.
— What are you saying? — I ask, though without interest. She looks at me with curiosity, but no hint of a response.
— It's just... nothing, — she replies with a smile, but it's thoughtful. — Just words. Don't take them too seriously.
I fall silent. Her words somehow resonate with me, not letting me go. It's something more than just empty phrases.
And I can't understand why it bothers me.