Chapter 40: Whispers Through the Window(Ryo Pov).
The sunlight filtered in through linen drapes the color of champagne. Morning at the Akitsuki estate always arrived softly-never abrupt, never harsh. Even the air seemed curated, perfumed with lilac and citrus.
Ryo sat at the long, glass dining table, polished to a mirror-like sheen, a plate of fresh fruits-papaya slices, dragonfruit, and star-shaped carambola-arranged like artwork. Next to it, a warm croissant rested on a porcelain dish lined with gold. Steam rose from her jasmine tea in soft curls, mingling with the faint aroma of orange marmalade that clung to the edge of the room.
Across from her, her father sat in his usual seat, posture immaculate, dark hair styled in a way that looked sculpted rather than styled. He scrolled absently through his tablet, absorbing updates ranging from stock market shifts to European couture trends.
"Eat slowly, Ryo," her father said, his eyes never leaving the screen. "You'll get indigestion if you keep rushing."
"I'm not rushing," Ryo murmured, adjusting her grip on the butter knife. "But I'll slow down."
A pause.
"You're pale today," her father added. "Did you sleep poorly?"
"No. I slept fine."
Another lie added to the growing collection. In truth, she'd stayed awake long past midnight, replaying a voice in her head that didn't belong in these halls.
Her father finally looked up, eyes narrowing slightly.
"You've seemed distracted these days."
"I've had a lot on my mind."
"Such as?"
"School. Exams. Tutor schedules. You know."
Her father studied her for a moment too long, then returned to his tablet with a hum. "You're not seeing that tokuruka or whatever boy again, are you?"
Ryo's fingers stiffened slightly around the croissant.
"No," she said smoothly.
"Good. He's not someone you should associate with."
Ryo didn't respond. Her silence said too much.
The marble floor had chilled her feet that morning as she walked down from her bedroom, but she welcomed the cold. The cold helped her think. Helped her remember that all of this-this perfect, insulated world-was not all there was.
She remembered how Ryuga's coat brushed her fingers at the train yard, how his eyes-sharp, tired, and dangerous -had softened for just a heartbeat when she'd said, "Maybe I don't care."
She felt heat rush to her cheeks and took a sip of tea to hide it.
"Ryo," her father said again, this time with edge. "Is there something you're not telling me?"
"No," she replied.
"You've always been an excellent liar," her father said dryly. "But not to me."
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The sound of her father's voice echoed faintly from the next room, speaking to someone on the phone-probably some minister or bank CEO. His tone was clipped, always commanding. Ryo had once admired it. Now it felt like stone scraping glass.
When breakfast ended, she stood and gathered her bag.
Her uniform was freshly ironed, the navy-blue blazer fitting perfectly over her pressed shirt and ribbon-tied collar. A housekeeper handed her a small, monogrammed umbrella, "In case it rains, miss."
"Thank you."
Outside, the sky was pale gold, with leaves just beginning to scatter across the courtyard. Autumn was early this year, and even the wind had a sharpened edge.
Her family's driver, in his gray suit and white gloves, opened the car door. "Good morning, Lady yamamichi."
"Morning, Mr. Oda."
The ride to school passed in silence, except for the soft hum of classical piano coming from the stereo. She stared out the window as they passed cafés opening for the day, vendors arranging their displays of glossy apples and still-breathing fish, students walking in clusters-laughing, careless.
She envied them.
When the car pulled into the school gates, students were already gathered. The courtyard buzzed with the low murmur of morning chatter, phones flicking open, feet scuffing tile.
Ryo stepped out, bag over her shoulder, and walked with practiced poise. She was used to eyes. But lately, the glances had changed. Not admiration-curiosity. Suspicion.
Two girls near the fountain whispered behind their hands as she passed.
"Have you noticed how... distant she's been lately?"
"She used to laugh more."
"She's always looking out the window. Like she's waiting for someone."
Ryo didn't turn. But the words followed her like shadows.
From behind, someone called her name. "Ryo!"
She glanced back. It was Emiko, her classmate, holding a notebook and jogging toward her.
"Hey, morning!" Emiko said, catching her breath. "You heading to homeroom?"
"Yeah."
"You okay? You seem... I don't know, quieter than usual."
"I'm fine," Ryo answered, smiling faintly. "Just tired."
"Well, get some rest, okay? You're kind of the backbone of the class. If you start falling apart, we're doomed."
"I'm not falling apart," Ryo said, softer.
"Didn't say you were. Just saying... if you ever want to talk, I'm around!"
"I'll remember that."
They walked together, but Ryo's mind was already drifting.
She glanced toward the outer edge of the school, beyond the fence lined with sakura trees that had long since shed their flowers.
And for a moment-just a moment-she saw him.
Ryuga.
He stood far back, just outside the main gate, half-concealed by the side of the wall. He didn't wave. Didn't call out.
He simply watched.
Like a ghost that didn't know whether it should haunt or protect.
Ryo's steps slowed.
But by the time she looked again, he was gone.
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Ryo's classroom was pristine. Her classmates smelled of designer perfume. Laughter echoed lightly.
"Yamamichi-san," a girl leaned over, whispering, "You seem... distracted lately."
"Do I?"
"Yeah. Not in a bad way. Just... different. You used to correct the teacher's mistakes. Now you're staring out the window. Who are you looking for?"
Ryo smiled politely. "Just daydreaming."
But her fingers were tense around her pen.
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Lunch.
Ryo sat beneath a sakura tree in the courtyard. Her bento was elegant, prepared with care-teriyaki salmon, rolled omelets, cut fruit.
She picked at the rice.
Across the courtyard, she noticed movement.
Ryuga.
He stood outside the school gates, half in shadow, watching.
Her breath caught. He didn't come in. He just watched.
A moment passed. Two. Then he turned and walked away.
"There it is again," said her classmate, returning to her side. "That far-off look. Like you're listening to something only you can hear."
Ryo's gaze lingered on the gates. "Maybe I am."
After school, Ryo walked home. Alone, despite her driver.
The streets were clean here. Trees lined the roads. Her shadow stretched long in the amber light.
She passed a bookstore and paused.
In the reflection, she saw a figure. Watching.
She turned quickly. No one there.
Her heart thudded.
At dinner, Ryo sat across from her parents.
They talked about investments and politics.
"You're quiet, sis," Ichigo-her aunt-noted.
"Just tired."
Her father sipped his wine. "Studying too hard?"
"Something like that."
Later, in her room, she stood by the window.
The glass was cool. Beyond it, the city shimmered. And somewhere, in the dark spaces between light, she knew he was out there.
Watching.
Waiting.
Not for pity.
But for something else.
And she was starting to feel it too.
Not pity.
Not curiosity.
Something more.
Like a whisper she wasn't supposed to hear.
But she did.
Every single day.