Closeness Between the Lines

Chapter 3. Fragile Balance

Yoko just sighed.

This is going to be harder than I thought, she thought.

Luckily, the bell rang, and the lecture began. Yoko was grateful for that. She tried to ignore the sideways glances. It wasn't new to her. But what no one could see or guess was that her thoughts were still circling around one single moment.

Around yesterday. Around her. It was definitely going to be a long day.

The next morning began as usual. The day moved along its course, yet felt oddly suspended — as if teetering on the edge of something yet to come.

Today was the final drawing class — the last before the exhibition. It was during this class that Faye would announce whose work would represent the university.

Faye had immersed herself in work since early morning. On one side — a pile of administrative tasks; on the other — the upcoming exhibition demanding her full attention.

And deep down — another reason to keep moving. Constant busyness was her shield. The fuller the schedule, the farther she stayed from thoughts she didn't want to return to.
Thoughts of the girl who had unexpectedly shaken her inner balance two days ago.

The morning passed with classes for the junior years. Time was rushing toward three o'clock — and with it, a strange sense of nervousness that Faye couldn't fully explain.

Breathe, she reminded herself.

The room gradually filled with students. Some chatted, others hurriedly unpacked their work. Faye pretended to focus on her tablet, checking the list. She wasn't looking for anyone in particular. Of course not.

And yet, the moment Yoko appeared in the doorway, she noticed immediately.

They exchanged a brief glance — nothing more. Yoko walked further into the studio and took a seat by the window, a bit apart from the others.

Faye tried to maintain her composure. She sat at her desk, listening to students' comments, offering advice. Her tone was clear, calm, to the point.
She had always been strict but fair — spotting talent where it existed and pointing out flaws when needed. Today was no exception.

But despite her focus, she kept catching herself — her gaze drifting, again and again, to the back of the room. Yoko sat there, slightly hunched over her sketchbook, clearly drawing something. And Faye's eyes kept finding her — like a compass needle.

Yoko was trying to listen to the discussion — after all, she'd be taking part in exhibitions herself soon. But she couldn't concentrate. Almost automatically, she opened her notebook and let her hand choose what to draw.

She didn't realize right away that she was sketching soft, precise lines — she was drawing Faye.
There was nothing random in these lines. Only warmth, quiet admiration, and that rare kind of sincerity that isn't hidden — but isn't shown off either.

Yoko looked at the drawing and smiled faintly. You're still in my head...

When the discussion ended and the names were announced, Faye stood up.

"Congratulations on completing the semester. Thank you for your work. I'll see you at the Friday exhibition."

Students began packing their things. The studio filled with the familiar sounds of footsteps and voices. Faye picked up her tablet, gathered her papers, and walked out into the office adjoining the studio — without looking back.

Yoko lingered a few minutes longer. She slowly turned the page in her sketchbook, closed it — as if hiding a small secret — and only then stood and left the studio. The class was over.
But neither of them left it the same as they had come in.

Behind the closed door, leaning back against the smooth wooden panel, Faye clutched her tablet and folder like a shield. Just being in the same room with Yoko was becoming harder and harder. And looking away from her — nearly impossible.

Faye closed her eyes. Her heart was beating slowly, but muffled — as if underwater. She didn't understand herself. She had never felt anything like this in someone's presence before. Yes, sometimes someone might catch her interest — lightly, superficially. Fleeting attractions, almost faceless, always under control. She simply didn't allow herself anything more.

But now everything was falling apart. As if the walls she had spent years building were cracking and crumbling from just one look. That look — attentive, a little uncertain, and full of too much... sincerity.

It scared her. Truly scared her. Panic stirred somewhere inside, quietly. Faye felt that if this went on a little longer, she would lose her balance.

She made herself a promise: I'll deal with it. Later. Just not now.

Now wasn't the time. She had neither the strength nor the space for it. She had to hold on. Just a little longer.

Friday's exhibition would take up all her thoughts, all her focus. There, she wouldn't have room for emotion. And after that — break. A week without meetings, without accidental glances.
There, at a distance, in the quiet, she could let herself feel and sort everything out.

There — yes.
But not now.

Faye took a deep breath, then — as if shaking off a spell — turned sharply and walked further into the room. The folder landed on the desk with a dull rustle. She sat down, her shoulders sinking with fatigue, and closed her eyes for a moment.

Just a little longer... hang on a little longer... she thought. Then, putting on her usual mask of concentration, she dove back into the stack of papers.

Tomorrow promised to be quieter. A couple of extra sessions — a rare breather in the midst of demanding, exhausting days. She might finally finish the paperwork, send off the paintings, maybe even leave early and allow herself a few hours of peace.

And then — the exhibition. The final push. The home stretch. Only after that — the long-awaited pause. In that silence, she wouldn't push away the thoughts that now came more and more often.

But for now — work. Only work.