The walk stretched longer than it should have.
Not because the road was different.Not because they were late.
Just… quieter, somehow.
Lyra walked ahead, not so far as to lose them, but just enough that it didn't feel like they were together anymore. She didn't look back, didn't slow down, didn't say a word.
Caelum watched her for a moment, then looked away.
"She's quick today."
Amoriel's gaze followed Lyra."It's not a significant change."
"That's not what I meant."
"I see."
They kept walking.
Their footsteps echoed in the space between them. A few students passed, laughing and talking, oblivious to the strange tension trailing down the street.
Caelum shifted his bag on his shoulder.
"She's avoiding me."
Amoriel nodded, without hesitation."Yes."
Just that. No softening.
He let out a slow breath.
"Yeah."
They walked on.
Lyra turned a corner ahead, still not waiting.
Caelum almost called her name.
Almost.
But he swallowed the words.
Not for lack of things to say—just nothing that felt right.
"You usually talk more," Amoriel noted.
"Not helping."
"I'm observing."
"Observe quietly."
She considered that, then nodded."Alright."
Silence returned.
Not empty—just stretched thin between them.
The school gates appeared sooner than he expected. Students clustered outside, voices rising in the morning air.
Lyra slipped through the gate without looking back, as she always did.
Only this time, she didn't check if he was there.
Caelum slowed, hesitating before following.
Amoriel matched his pace, silent.
"You're thinking," she said quietly.
"Yeah."
"About her."
"…Yeah."
She nodded once, saying nothing more.
That was new.
Inside the classroom, everything felt familiar.
Chairs scraped. Students chatted across rows. Laughter drifted from the window.
Normal.
Except—
Lyra was already in her seat.
Back straight. Book open. Pen gliding across the page.
She didn't glance up when they entered.
Caelum paused, then took his seat.
"You're early."
No answer.
Just the scratch of her pen.
He sat anyway.
Amoriel placed her things down with careful precision.
A few seconds passed.
"You came back quickly," she said.
Lyra's pen paused.
"Didn't stop anywhere."
Her voice was even. Not cold—just flat.
"That's efficient," Amoriel replied.
Lyra said nothing.
Caelum leaned back, glancing over his shoulder.
"You usually stop for something."
"Not today."
Short. Closed off.
"Right."
He turned back around.
Conversation over before it started.
Beside him, Amoriel shifted slightly.
"Her answers are shorter."
"I noticed."
"That means something changed."
"Yeah."
He rested his elbow on the desk, staring at nothing in particular.
The difference wasn't obvious.
But it was there—
in the pauses,in what was left unsaid.
That made it harder to ignore.
The teacher arrived and started the lesson.
Chalk tapped the board. Words filled the room. Students followed along.
Everything moved as usual.
Lyra answered when called on.
Clear. Precise. No hesitation.
But after, she didn't add anything. Didn't glance up. Didn't mutter a comment.
She just went back to her work.
Like nothing else mattered.
Caelum noticed.
Of course he did.
He just didn't know what to do with it.
"You're distracted," Amoriel murmured.
"I know."
"It's because of her."
"…Yeah."
Amoriel tilted her head.
"You're not trying to fix it."
He exhaled.
"I don't know how."
"That's not like you."
"Thanks."
"Not a criticism."
"Still sounds like one."
She paused.
"Noted."
That almost made him laugh.
Almost.
Behind them, Lyra's pen stopped for a heartbeat—
then resumed.
Steady. Consistent.
As if nothing had changed.
When the bell rang, chairs scraped back and voices filled the room.
Lyra stood too quickly.
Before Caelum could turn, she was already slinging her bag over her shoulder.
"I'm going ahead," she said, not looking at him."I have something to do."
"Since when?"
"Today."
That was all.
She left without pause—gone before he could find the right words.
Caelum blinked.
"That's new."
Amoriel stared at the door.
"She left early."
"Yeah."
He collected his things, slower this time.
"She's really avoiding me."
"Yes."
He sighed.
"I messed up."
Amoriel looked at him.
"You didn't know."
"That doesn't help."
"It explains it."
He shook his head.
"Not to her."
A pause.
"You could tell her."
"…What?"
"The truth."
He looked away.
"It's not that simple."
"Why not?"
Because it sounded bad, no matter how he tried to explain.Because he should've said something earlier.Because now it just looked worse.
He didn't say any of that.
"It just isn't."
Amoriel studied him for a moment, then nodded.
"Alright."
He stood, slinging his bag over his shoulder.
"Let's go."
"Okay."
They stepped into the hallway.
Students filled every space, voices rising and falling.
Everything looked the same.
Felt the same.
But it wasn't.
Not really.
Now there was a gap where something used to be—
just big enough that he couldn't pretend otherwise.