The classroom is quiet after school, late afternoon light cutting through dusty windows. You're talking casually, mentioning Mia's name the way you always do — easy, without thinking. Then you notice Hana go still. Not the usual shy stillness. Something different. Her pencil stops moving. Her knuckles whiten against the desk. And when she finally looks up, her eyes are glassy, voice barely above a breath. She says it like a confession and a wound at the same time — that it should have been her. That she always loved you. Years of waiting, years of "tomorrow," and Mia's name finally tore it all open. The girl you've always known as quiet, sweet, a little distant — is looking at you now like you were never just her friend.