The school bell hadn't rung yet, but Seina was already packing her bag with mechanical movements, her eyes fixed on the scratched desk surface as if she could read some secret in the ink marks that would let her disappear.
The screams from the night before still echoed in her ears — a ghostly sound no classroom noise could drown out.
"Hey."
The voice made Seina lift her head suddenly.
Thalya stood beside her desk, her black cap slightly tilted, violet eyes narrowed with concern.
"You disappeared after class yesterday," Thalya said bluntly. "And today you look like you slept under a truck. You okay?"
Seina looked away, focusing too hard on zipping her bag.
"I'm fine. Just tired."
Thalya didn't move a muscle. The silence between them grew heavier.
"Yeah, right," she finally said, voice softer now. "It's your family again, isn't it?"
Seina didn't answer.
But her chin trembled — just barely — and that was enough.
"I told you before," Thalya said quietly. "You can talk to me. I'll listen."
Seina stayed silent.
Thalya sighed, glanced around, then grabbed Seina's bag.
"Come on."
"Where?"
"Somewhere that's not here."
Thalya didn't take her to the courtyard or the cafeteria.
She led her to the school rooftop — a forbidden, empty place where the wind blew freely and the whole gray city stretched endlessly before them.
They sat on the ledge, backs to the school, faces turned to the world.
The silence between them was different now — no longer awkward, but expectant.
"They…" Seina's voice came out rough, and she had to swallow hard. "They fight all the time. About everything. About nothing."
She stared at her hands resting on her lap.
"And when they're not fighting, it's this silence that hurts more than the yelling. My dad… he says I'm a burden. That I never do anything right. My mom hears it and pretends she didn't. So I just… disappear into my room and wait for the day to end."
She had never said it out loud to anyone before.
The words came out like a confession, heavy with the shame she'd carried alone for years.
Thalya didn't say "I'm sorry."
She didn't interrupt.
She just listened — her serious profile facing the city.
When Seina finished, the wind seemed to carry away a little of the weight she'd released.
Then she turned to Thalya.
"And you?" she asked, her voice steadier now. "What was your home like… before everything fell apart?"
Thalya was silent for a long moment, as if she were riding a wave of memories she hadn't touched in ages.
"It was… loud," she began, a faint smile touching her lips. "My mom used to sing opera in the kitchen — even though she never knew the lyrics right. My dad would fix things and swear at every tool he owned."
She laughed softly — a rare, gentle sound.
"It was a good kind of chaos. Until it wasn't."
The "until it wasn't" hung in the air, heavy with everything that didn't need to be said.
Then Thalya turned fully toward Seina, her eyes serious.
"Look… my house is big. And empty. And quiet — but it's a different kind of quiet."
She paused, choosing her words.
"If you ever need to get away from yours… just for a night or something… my door's open."
Seina was speechless.
The offer echoed in her mind like a bell.
Someone was offering her shelter.
Someone understood.
"You don't have to—" she began, but Thalya cut her off with a wave.
"It's fine. I get it."
The bell rang below — distant noise from another world.
But for a moment, neither of them moved.
They stayed there, high above everything — two girls with empty homes in different ways, but who, in that moment, weren't alone.
Thalya stood first, extending her hand.
"Come on. Before they make us clean classrooms."
Seina took the offered hand — and for the first time that week, she felt like maybe there was a tomorrow worth waiting for.