Chapter 12

The wind was sharper than usual - the kind that comes right at the end of autumn, before the cold really sinks in. It tugged at the edges of my jacket, scattering dry leaves in swirling eddies across the pavement near the university gates. I stayed there longer than I should have after class, standing just inside the shadow of the old stone archway, as if the chill might strip away something I couldn't carry anymore - or maybe something I didn't even want to hold onto.

I heard Sae's voice before I saw her. It cut through the silence like she always did - blunt, but never cruel.

"Still brooding?"

I turned to find her standing there, wrapped in a scarf that looked way too big for her but somehow suited her anyway. Her hands were shoved deep into the pockets of her jacket, and she was watching me with that careful sort of curiosity she always had - the kind that made me feel like she could see right through me, even when I didn't want to be seen.

"You walk around like someone's trying to write poetry about you," she said, stepping closer.

I snorted, surprised at how easily the sound came out. "That's the worst thing anyone's said to me all week."

"Good," she said with a smirk. "Means I'm doing my job."

We didn't really agree to start walking, but we moved forward in step anyway, like some silent understanding had passed between us. It was strange - the rhythm between us. Quiet. Unforced. No pressure to fill the silence or pretend everything was okay. She didn't push for words, and I didn't feel the need to defend my silences anymore. Something had shifted, something small but significant.

After a few steps, she glanced at me and said, "I saw you talking to that guy, Minato."

"Yeah," I admitted, glancing sideways. "He's… not as awkward as I thought."

"He's awkward," she corrected me. "Just not fake."

I nodded slowly. "Maybe that's why it's easier."

"Easier than what?"

"Than pretending I don't need anyone," I said quietly, eyes fixed on the cracked pavement.

There was a pause, and I almost worried I'd said too much. But she just moved a little closer, so our arms almost brushed. That tiny contact was unexpected but not unwelcome.

Later that week, I found myself sitting across from Minato in a small café a few blocks from campus. He'd insisted we get coffee.

"You need to learn how to relax like a normal person," he said, sipping a ridiculously sweet drink topped with whipped cream.

I held my black coffee like it was a shield. "This your idea of relaxing?"

"It's warm, it smells good, and there are no professors here asking us to argue about dead philosophers. That's good enough for me."

I actually smiled a little. It felt strange - to laugh like that, over something so small.

Minato leaned forward. "Hey, seriously. That thing with Takumi? The whole fight? That took guts."

I looked down into my cup. "I don't want people talking about it."

"I get that," he said gently, "but it doesn't change the fact that it meant something. You're not invisible anymore."

I swallowed hard. "I liked being invisible."

"Maybe. But you didn't seem happy."

That stopped me. I looked up at him. It was true - I hadn't been happy. Not really.

"People only remember the spectacle," Minato said. "Not the reason behind it. But I remember that Takumi's guys were picking a fight. You ended it."

"I didn't want to be some rumor," I said quietly.

"You're not," he assured me. "You're just someone people are finally noticing."

That evening, Sae was waiting outside the café when I stepped out. No explanation. Just that familiar, straightforward line: "You looked like you needed an excuse not to go home."

I didn't argue. Maybe I didn't want to go home. Maybe I wanted to keep walking, keep pretending the night wouldn't close in.

We walked through the quiet residential streets near campus. The amber streetlights cast long shadows across the pavement, and the air had that crisp bite of winter just around the corner. Leaves skittered past our feet, carried in uneven gusts like restless ghosts.

For a long time, neither of us said anything.

Then, she broke the silence. "You always this quiet when people are nice to you?"

I shrugged, looking straight ahead. "I don't know how to react."

"You don't have to," she said softly. "Just… let it happen."

I glanced at her, the streetlight catching the edges of her hair where it escaped beneath her beanie. It was different in this light - warmer than I'd noticed before. Not just red or orange, but something deeper, like autumn leaves or the last flash of daylight before sunset. Amber. That was the word.

Strange, I thought. I'd looked at her so many times before without really seeing it.

"I'm not used to people like you," I admitted, almost without meaning to.

She raised an eyebrow. "That supposed to be a compliment or a warning?"

I gave the faintest smile. "I haven't decided yet."

"Fair enough," she said, and the corner of her mouth lifted.

At the next streetlight, she stopped and turned to face me fully.

"You still thinking about your father?"

I nodded once. "Yeah."

"You want to talk about it?"

I hesitated. "Not really. But… thank you."

She looked at me for a long moment, then stepped forward and wrapped her arms around me in a quick, firm hug. I stiffened - caught off guard - but didn't pull away.

"Don't act like you're not the type who needs this," she murmured, chin resting briefly against my shoulder.

I whispered back, more to myself than to her, "I'm not sure what type I am anymore."

As we pulled apart, the soft strands of her hair brushed my arm.

Amber, I thought again.

I used to believe beauty came with noise - loud voices, bright clothes, impossible confidence. But maybe it's quieter than I realized. Maybe it walks beside you when you're not looking, and only shows its colors when the light hits just right.

And maybe, just maybe, people who stay - the ones who don't vanish when it gets hard - are the ones who teach you that strength isn't about standing alone. It's about letting the right ones stand with you.