Hana sat two rows behind Kaito. She did not take notes. The teacher was talking about history. The words were dry. They did not matter.
Kaito mattered.
He sat with his back straight. His jacket was on the chair. His hand rested near the pocket.
Hana thought: Item one.
She kept the list in her head. She did not write it down. Paper could be found. Memories could be denied.
Item one: The jacket. He wore it even when the heating was on. He checked the pocket every twenty minutes.
Item two: The eyes. He looked tired. Not the kind of tired that came from studying. The kind that came from carrying something heavy.
Item three: The disappearances. He left the room five times this week. Always during transitions. Always for exactly seven minutes.
Hana thought: Seven minutes.
She tapped her pen against the desk. The sound was soft. Kaito did not turn around. He knew she was there. He always knew.
