The auditorium was empty except for the two of them.
Rehearsal had been canceled—advisor Yamada had texted: "Take the day. Sort yourselves out."
Sora arrived first. Sat on the edge of the stage, legs dangling, staring at the floor.
Akira arrived ten minutes later.
He stopped at the door when he saw her.
She looked up. "You came."
"I said I would."
Sora stood. "We need to talk. Really talk."
Akira walked closer. Stopped three paces away.
Sora took a breath. "I got the official letter yesterday. Deadline is March 7. Full ride. Tokyo. Preparatory year, then direct entry."
Akira nodded slowly. "Congratulations."
"Don't." Sora's voice was sharp. "Don't do that polite thing. Not now."
Akira met her eyes. "What do you want me to say?"
"I want you to tell me what you actually think. Not what the perfect student would say."
Akira exhaled. "I think you should take it."
Sora blinked.
He continued. "It's a full scholarship. Prestigious program. No more rankings. No more second place. A fresh start where you're not defined by me."
Sora's hands clenched. "You want me to leave."
"I want what's best for you."
"That's not an answer."
Akira looked away. "If you stay… you'll always wonder. You'll always feel like you're chasing something you can't catch."
Sora stepped closer. "And if I go… what happens to us?"
Akira's voice was quiet. "There is no 'us'."
Sora laughed—bitter. "Right. Just partners. Just the project."
Akira met her gaze. "We were never just anything."
Sora froze.
He continued. "I hated you for years. Because you made me question everything. My rankings. My control. My certainty. And then I started… not hating you. And that was worse."
Sora's eyes shone. "Why?"
"Because if I don't hate you, I have to admit I like you. And liking you means risking losing you."
Sora swallowed. "You're already losing me. You pushed me away first."
Akira's voice cracked—just once. "I know."
Silence.
Sora whispered, "I don't want to leave."
Akira looked at her.
"But I can't stay just for the project. Or just for you. Not if you won't even try to meet me halfway."
Akira stepped forward. One pace. Two.
They were close enough to touch.
He spoke softly. "Then tell me what halfway looks like."
Sora searched his face. "It looks like you trusting me. Not assuming I'm leaving. Not deleting my notes. Not treating every touch like it's a mistake."
Akira nodded slowly.
Sora continued. "And it looks like me not running. Not using Tokyo as an escape. But I need to know… if I stay… what are we?"
Akira exhaled. "I don't know yet."
Sora's shoulders sagged.
"But," he added quickly, "I know I don't want to find out without you here."
Sora's eyes filled.
Akira reached out—hesitant—brushed a tear from her cheek with his thumb.
Sora leaned into the touch—just a fraction.
Then she stepped back.
"I need to think. Alone."
Akira nodded.
She walked past him.
At the door she stopped.
"Takahashi."
He looked up.
"If I stay… we finish this. Together. No more walls. No more assuming."
Akira's voice was steady. "No more walls."
She left.
Akira sank onto the stage edge.
He stared at his hands.
One still warm from her cheek.
He closed his eyes.
And for the first time in years, he let himself hope.