Hope Has Teeth

It had been a week.

Umire had been absent from school for an entire week.

Lena sat at her desk, slouched low, her hand drifting across her notebook in slow, mindless loops. Mr. Yon was at the front of the room talking about polynomials—or maybe matrices. She'd been following at first, sort of, but at some point, the numbers and symbols had melted into meaningless noise. Now, it was like listening to a language she wasn't meant to understand.

No one else seemed surprised that Umire was gone.

Luka had told her it happened sometimes. Just… vanishing like that.

She'd eaten lunch with him, Sarah, and Kai a few times since then. Just today, they'd all sat together again, just an hour ago. Every time was quietly miserable—an exercise in social tightrope walking. But the more it happened, the less painful it became. Not easier. Just… duller. She still couldn't talk freely, still couldn't keep a conversation going, but at least she no longer felt like she might cry if someone looked at her too long.

Still. She preferred eating alone.

Her pencil scratched softly across the page, drawing the rounded ears of a small cat in the corner of her notebook. It wasn't on purpose. It had just sort of appeared beneath her fingers. The shape of it made her pause.

It reminded her of Umire.

She wasn't sure why. Maybe the tilt of its head. Maybe the shape of its eyes.

Without thinking, Lena began darkening those eyes with her pencil, pressing the lead into the paper in slow, circular strokes. But no matter how much she shaded them in, it wasn't the same. They didn't match that beautiful blackness that lived in Umire's eyes. The real thing was deeper, richer—like ink in a well that never ran dry.

She didn't know where Umire was. No one did. Maybe Yuna.

Lena bit down on the inside of her cheek at the thought. Yuna had known her longer. According to Sarah, the two of them had been inseparable since middle school. That made sense. That was normal.

It still hurt.

Her hand moved faster. The lead came out darker. She pressed harder, layering line after line into the cat's eyes. The image of Yuna laughing with Umire floated behind her eyes, taunting her. There was nothing wrong with it. It was just friendship. Normal friendship. But—

This always happened. This ugly, useless jealousy. Over ordinary things.

She never knew the rules. Never knew how much was too much, or not enough. She always overstepped, or said the wrong thing, or felt too much, or needed too much. People got tired of her. She confused them.

A flash of red hair—blurry, disjointed—flickered through her mind. A familiar ache crawled into her chest.

Her grip on the pencil tightened. The tip broke through the paper.

She froze.

The cat stared up at her from the page—one eye a soft, shaded grey, quiet and unfinished. The other… a dark, ruined mess. Thick with graphite. Torn clean through to the next sheet. The paper behind it was scribbled over too, the shadow bleeding through like a wound.

A gaping, ink-black hole where the eye should have been.

It looked wrong. Broken.

But somehow… that ruined eye reminded her of Umire more than the soft one did.

Lena let out a slow breath and pulled her hand away from the ruined cat sketch. Her pencil drifted lower on the page, where she began drawing tiny cakes—layered, fluffy, topped with strawberries and swirls of cream.

It helped. A little. It helped push away that face.

The one from her memories.

Lately, that face had been haunting her more than usual. Or—not the face exactly. She'd never really seen it. Even back then, she'd rarely looked up. Just glimpses. A blur. The way red curls spilled over small shoulders. The soft peach tone of the girl's neck.

But never the face.

It floated at the edges of her mind, just out of reach, always followed by that same bitter nausea curling in her throat. It left behind an aftertaste, like she'd swallowed something rotten and smiling.

Lena shook her head and pressed her pencil down, drawing frosting lines with extra care, as if neatness might protect her from memory. She didn't want to think about red hair. She didn't want to be sick the rest of the day.

Instead, she let her mind drift to Umire.

Umire made her feel warm. Unfamiliar—but in a good way. Thinking about her made Lena feel like she could cry and laugh at the same time. There was something soft in the way Umire had looked at her. Something that filled Lena's chest until it hurt.

She didn't understand it. It scared her, but it also made her want to curl into it like a blanket.

Umire had accepted her—welcomed her—in a way that felt… dangerous. Because Lena could already feel herself slipping again. Falling back into that bad habit. The one where kindness felt like love. Where warmth meant devotion. Where she believed people cared about her just because they didn't look away.

She knew better now.

People didn't feel as deeply as she did. That was something she'd learned the hard way.

But Umire—Umire had cracked open that rule Lena had carved into her chest and lived by for years. And now it was bleeding light. It made her hopeful. It made her terrified.

Because hope had teeth.

She wasn't sure she could survive it again.

"So, class, do you all understand?" Mr. Yon's voice snapped her back like a slap.

Lena jolted, her pencil slipping in her hand. That line—that line—meant one thing: someone was about to be called to the board.

Her stomach dropped. She hadn't even looked at the problem on the whiteboard, let alone understood the gibberish he'd been mumbling the last twenty minutes. She ducked her head and shrank behind the back of the student in front of her, praying to go unnoticed.

"Well, if you all understand," Mr. Yon said, cheerful and cruel, "who wants to come up and show the class how to solve this problem?"

Silence. No one moved. A few students followed Lena's lead, eyes on their desks, bodies frozen in the classic student defense: if I don't move, I don't exist.

Mr. Yon sighed. "No volunteers? Guess I'll have to pick someone…"

Lena clenched her eyes shut and whispered a silent prayer to every god that might exist.

Please. Not me.

"Let's see…" Mr. Yon's voice took on that gleefully threatening tone Lena had come to fear. "Lena, why don't you show everyone what you've learned, yeah?"

Her heart slammed against her ribs like it wanted out. Please. Please. Please no.

"Come on up, Lena." His tone was cheery, like he was inviting her to a birthday party instead of sending her to the gallows.

Her chair scraped against the floor as she stood, legs shaky, stomach twisting into sick knots. The walk to the front felt longer than it should have. Too many eyes followed her. She could feel them pressing into her back, weighing her down.

She reached the board. Mr. Yon handed her the chalk like it was a loaded weapon and stepped aside.

Lena looked up at the equation.

It was nonsense.

Pure, uncut gibberish. Numbers tangled with letters. Symbols that looked like they'd crawled out of a different dimension. She had no idea where to even begin. But she raised the chalk anyway, pretending—stupidly, bravely—that something might magically come to her.

"Show us what you've learned. You got this, Lena!" Mr. Yon said, his fake encouragement slicing her open.

She wanted to scream. Instead, she decided she hated him.

He knew she didn't get this. He was the one who'd assigned her a tutor. He had to know how lost she was. And Umire hadn't been at school the past week—her only lifeline was gone. Lena had lied, stupidly told him she was fine, that she understood everything.

Now she was paying for that lie, standing here like an idiot.

She stared at the board, eyes stinging. Her hand trembled as she slowly copied the equation. Maybe if she took long enough, no one would notice she wasn't solving anything.

Think. Think, think, THINK.

Nothing came.

The pressure mounted in her chest, tight and sharp, until her vision blurred. Her throat felt too small, like it was closing in on itself.

Then—

Click.

The classroom door slid open. The soft thud of it hitting the wall sliced through the tension in the air like a blade. Lena blinked, startled, turning toward the sound along with everyone else.

A brown loafer stepped into the room. Black stockings followed. The crisp hem of a blue skirt swayed gently as the girl stepped forward. Her hair—a sheet of inky black—flowed behind her like water.

It was effortless. Regal.

She didn't command attention. She inhaled it.

"Umire!" Mr. Yon beamed like he'd just seen the sunrise. "Oh, you're back! We missed you."

Umire stood at the doorway, serene. Her hand reached back and slid the door closed with a quiet click.

"Sorry I'm late, Mr. Yon," she said, her voice low and velvety, her smile soft and composed.

"No problem at all," he said. "Oh, why don't you help out? Come on up—Lena could use a little assistance."

Lena's ears rang.

She barely registered Mr. Yon's words—something about knowing she was struggling, acknowledging it out loud. And still, he let her stand there, unraveling. But the resentment that should have surged in her chest never came. It drowned beneath the quiet pull of her gaze. Her eyes were locked on Umire, and she couldn't look away. 

Everything else—her thoughts, the room, even the dull throb inside her—blurred at the edges. All that remained sharp, vivid, and disturbingly clear was Umire, moving toward her with a light, almost weightless step—like a dream Lena couldn't wake from, or a spell she hadn't realized was cast.

"Yes, sir," Umire said, her voice like velvet brushing across glass. She walked to the board, plucked up a piece of chalk, and stood beside Lena without a word. 

Not like a savior. Not like a hero. Just... herself.

Steady. Ethereal. Unshaken.

Lena turned to look at her, barely breathing.

Umire offered her a small, warm smile.

And for a moment, just a second, Lena felt like she might not break. But at the same time, she felt like a glass vase with a hammer hovering inches above, waiting.

Umire gave her a soft, unreadable smile before facing the board. 

Then, like it was nothing, she solved the problem.

In less than thirty seconds, the incomprehensible tangle of letters and numbers that had made Lena feel like her brain was melting was unraveled with effortless grace. Chalk whispered against slate. Lines flowed. Symbols danced. And before Lena could even process what was happening, Umire was dusting her hands off.

"Perfectly done, as expected of our class president!" Mr. Yon clapped, beaming. "Alright, you two can return to your seats. Umire, see me in my office before heading home today, okay?"

"Yes, sir," she replied with a calm smile.

And just like that, she turned and walked away, her steps light and unhurried. Lena remained frozen, standing in front of the board like a ghost, as Umire drifted past the rows of students. Her dark hair flowed behind her like ink in water. Her presence seemed to glow in the late afternoon light.

Eyes followed her. Of course they did.

She didn't ask for attention. She simply had it.

Lena watched her sit down in the back row, and for a second, forgot to breathe.

"Umire, oh my god, you were gone forever!" someone beside her cried out.

"Yeah, we totally missed you," another groaned, like they'd been holding it in all week.

The silence that had filled the classroom minutes ago cracked open. Chatter burst like popcorn, all of it orbiting around the corner of the room where Umire sat. She answered them gently, her smile polite, serene.

"Alright, alright. Settle down—class isn't over yet," Mr. Yon called out, his voice struggling to cut through the hum of excitement. The noise faded into whispers.

"Lena, you can take a seat too."

Lena blinked, startled. "Ah—" Her body moved before her mind caught up. She shuffled back to her desk, head ducked. This time, no one was watching her. All eyes were still drawn to the star that had walked back into the sky.

But just before she sat, she glanced back—couldn't help it—and her gaze found Umire again.

Umire was listening to something a classmate was saying, still wearing that calm little smile. Then, almost like she'd felt Lena's stare, her head lifted. Their eyes met.

Lena flinched slightly.

Those eyes—dark, warm, sharp—locked onto hers like they always had. Not mocking. Not pitying.

Just seeing.

Umire's smile widened, softening. She lifted a hand in a gentle wave.

Lena blinked.

Then, without meaning to, she waved back, her hand rising slowly, almost against her will. A smile tugged at her lips—small, shy, but real.

She could feel the other students following Umire's line of sight. Heads turned. Whispers stirred. But Lena didn't care.

Not this time.

Face warm, she sank into her seat and looked back at the board, the chalk-streaked numbers a blur in the distance.

Mr. Yon droned on, but Lena barely heard him.

Her chest fluttered like paper catching wind, and a gentle warmth bloomed in her ribs—familiar, almost forgotten.

Umire was back.

And somehow, that made everything feel better.