There's a special kind of loneliness in watching your story go on without you.
And lately, mine was starring Koharu Minami and Riku Saionji.
"Look at them," a girl whispered behind me during lunch. "She's totally into him, right?"
"They were alone in the storage room for two hours yesterday," another added.
I poked my rice with all the enthusiasm of a dying goldfish.
Koharu hadn't even said "hi" this morning. She and Riku had walked into class together, heads bent over a notebook, laughing at something only two attractive, theater-infected weirdos could understand. She didn't even glance my way.
NPC status: maxed out.
---
By rehearsal, things had only gotten worse.
Koharu and Riku were rewriting Scene 14—again. I'd lost count after the fifth "new" version. Every rewrite included a new reason for their characters to touch. Or banter. Or have a long moment of silent, soul-deep eye contact under romantic backlighting.
"Where's Senpai?" Koharu asked absently during a break.
"He's with props now," someone replied. "Said he'd help backstage today."
"Oh. Right," she said, too quickly.
She didn't come looking for me.
---
The props room was dusty and too quiet.
I'd volunteered for backstage duty mostly because I didn't want to keep standing around like a forgotten pylon. Second reason? I liked puzzles. And the props department had problems.
"Hey," one of the tech kids said, flipping through blueprints. "The stage plan doesn't match the set design notes. Something's way off."
I peeked over his shoulder. "Let me see."
The blueprint was a mess—smudged ink, misaligned measurements, and something about the curtain rails being reversed? It was giving me a headache. But something clicked in my brain.
"Wait," I said, grabbing a pencil. "This isn't the plan for the main hall. This is the old gym's layout. Whoever copied this used the wrong master file."
"…How do you know that?"
"Look at the light rig spacing. Only the old gym has diagonal beams like that."
The techie blinked. "You just… saw that?"
I shrugged. "I like solving things. Guess it's my one main character trait."
---
Three hours later, disaster averted.
Turns out if I hadn't caught the blueprint error, the crew would've built the stage six feet too narrow. Which meant the rotating platform Riku insisted on—including a fire-lit confession scene—would've collapsed mid-spin.
The staff advisor actually patted my shoulder.
"Good instincts. You're sharper than you let on."
"…Thanks."
And for the first time that day, I didn't feel like furniture.
---
That evening, I stayed late.
Alone in the rehearsal hall, I adjusted the light gels and tested different hues against the curtains. Warm tones made the stage look dreamy. Cool tones turned it melancholic. I played with them idly, thinking.
That used to be our thing—me and Koharu.
Finding the right moment. Making chaos fun.
Now she had a new co-star. And I was… tech support.
"Sulkier than usual tonight," a voice said.
I turned. Koharu stood in the doorway, hands behind her back, her bag slung lazily over one shoulder.
"Didn't realize you noticed," I said.
She walked in, eyes drifting over the lights I'd rigged.
"Everyone's talking about you," she said. "Mr. Prop Hero."
"They say I'm a genius with measuring tape."
She giggled. "You were always good at decoding stuff."
I blinked. "I was?"
She nodded. "Remember that time I forgot the locker combo and you cracked it in five minutes just by checking the scratch patterns?"
"I thought you were going to kiss me then."
"I was. But I had yogurt breath and chickened out."
I choked. "What—"
She laughed. "Kidding. Or maybe not."
The silence stretched. Not awkward. Just… heavy.
Then she asked, softly, "Are you mad at me?"
"…No," I said. "Just… trying not to get in the way."
"You're never in the way."
"Feels like I am."
Her eyes shimmered under the soft blue light I'd left on. "Riku's cool, yeah. But he's not you."
"…He's better."
"No. He's scripted."
That word hit different.
"I like your chaos," she said. "The way you glitch through life and still somehow fix it all."
I swallowed. "Why'd you stop hanging out with me then?"
She walked closer, slowly.
"I was scared."
"Of what?"
"Of making this… real."
My heart skipped. "What's this?"
Her hands brushed mine. "Whatever we've been."
I looked down at her. "You've been writing scenes with him all week."
She leaned in. "But I saved the kiss scene for you."
"…You did?"
She smiled, mischievous. "Page thirty-two. Scene Fifteen. Surprise kiss. Spotlight. Real lips. No acting."
I flushed redder than a sunrise. "You're evil."
"Yup."
"And a tease."
She raised an eyebrow. "So kiss me already, or I'm giving it to Riku."
"Now who's scripted?"
"I just improvise better than you."
---
I didn't kiss her.
Not yet.
But when she left that night, she squeezed my hand—really squeezed it—and whispered, "Don't let anyone rewrite your story."
For once, I thought maybe… I wouldn't.
---
To be continued