As the final weeks of school approached, a new kind of pressure settled over them all, heavier and more unrelenting than any exam or project deadline they had faced before. It was the pressure of expectation—the kind that doesn't have a clear answer, that doesn't disappear when you close a textbook or finish a task. It was the weight of deciding who they were and who they wanted to be, the kind of decision that felt permanent, even if it wasn't.
Misaki felt the weight most acutely whenever she walked into the art room. The familiar scent of paints and canvas, once comforting, now seemed to stifle her. Her art teacher had approached her after class one day, his voice kind but firm as he spoke about her "remarkable potential" and how she should pursue art at a prestigious university. It was what she had always wanted—recognition for her talent, the opportunity to explore her craft. Yet now, faced with the tangible reality of that dream, she felt paralyzed.
She sat alone in the art room, staring at the painting she had started and abandoned so many times in the past few weeks. Her fingers clenched around the brush, but she couldn't bring herself to move. Doubt gnawed at her confidence, each stroke of color on the canvas feeling like a test she was destined to fail.
"Still stuck?"
The familiar voice pulled her from her thoughts, and she looked up to see Kaito leaning casually against the doorframe, his expression unreadable.
"Yeah," she admitted, her voice barely a whisper. "I thought I knew what I wanted. But now… I'm not so sure."
Kaito walked over and peered at the half-finished painting, tilting his head as if to see it from a different perspective. "It's funny," he said, his tone light but his eyes thoughtful. "Everyone always says you're so talented, but I think they forget that it's hard for you too."
Misaki was startled by his words, by the empathy in his usually carefree voice. "How do you mean?"
"People expect you to just know what to do because you're good at it. They don't realize that sometimes being good at something just makes it harder to know if it's what you really want," Kaito replied, his gaze meeting hers. There was an honesty in his eyes that she hadn't seen before, and it struck her how much he understood, how much he was hiding behind his usual laziness.
"Do you feel like that too?" she asked, surprised by her own vulnerability.
Kaito hesitated, his expression clouding for a moment before he shrugged. "Maybe. It's easier to just not try sometimes, you know? Less chance of screwing things up that way."
Misaki's heart ached at the resignation in his tone, and for the first time, she saw how similar they were. The weight of expectation didn't just come from the outside—it came from within, from the fear of failing to live up to their own potential.
In another part of the school, Yuki sat with her music sheet spread out before her, her fingers hovering over the piano keys. Her teacher's words echoed in her mind, urging her to audition for a prestigious music academy, to chase her talent to its fullest extent. But every time she played, the joy she once felt seemed to slip further away, replaced by a gnawing anxiety that turned every note sour.
Aoi's voice broke the silence, soft and hesitant. "You haven't played in a while," she said, standing in the doorway of the empty practice room.
Yuki looked up, startled. Aoi had become a constant presence lately, always there to listen, to offer quiet support without pushing. She was like a shadow, always near but never intruding.
"I… I just don't know if I can do it," Yuki admitted, her voice trembling. "Everyone expects me to go for it, to make music my life. But what if I'm not good enough? What if I lose the love I have for it?"
Aoi sat beside her, not saying anything at first. Her expression was gentle, but her eyes carried the weight of someone who knew the burden of expectations all too well. After a long pause, she spoke, her words deliberate and careful.
"I think it's okay to be scared," Aoi said softly. "To not have all the answers right now. Sometimes, expectations are just… noise. And it's hard to hear what your own heart wants when the noise gets too loud."
Yuki's eyes welled with tears, and she turned away, hiding her face. Aoi didn't push her to speak, didn't offer empty reassurances. She simply sat there, her presence a quiet reminder that Yuki wasn't alone.
To be continued...