Unknown Variables

Chapter 10: When the Graph Breaks

It was raining when everything fell apart.

The kind of soft, misty rain that doesn't soak you right away—just slowly seeps in, quiet and unnoticed, until you're drenched and don't remember when it started.

I hadn't spoken to Hana since that night on the bridge. She still acted normal at school—smiling, laughing, waving to friends—but she never looked at me for more than a second.

Like I'd become background noise.
Like she was rewriting her life, and I wasn't in the next chapter.

After class, I ran into Sora near the vending machines. She was staring at a can of milk tea like it held the secrets of the universe.

"I never know which one I want," she said without looking at me. "So I always pick the same one and pretend it was a choice."

"Deep thoughts for a drink machine."

She smiled faintly. Then said, "Can we talk?"

We ended up in the music room. No one used it this late, except the piano teacher who occasionally practiced Chopin and scared people off.

Sora sat at the edge of the piano bench.

She looked tired. Not in the physical way—more like someone who had been holding her breath for too long.

"I didn't want to be second place," she said.

I sat on the floor beside her, leaning back against the wall.

"You're not."

"Then why does it feel like I'm only here because Hana walked away?"

That hit harder than I expected.

"I didn't choose you because she left," I said quietly. "I was just too afraid to choose you when she was still standing there."

Sora's eyes shimmered—though not with tears. It was something sharper. Realer.

She turned toward the piano and pressed a random key. A soft note echoed in the empty room.

"Even equations break," she said. "When you graph them, some lines never intersect. No matter how close they get."

I looked at her. Really looked.

"Then maybe I've been chasing the wrong solution."

She finally looked at me.

I thought she might lean in.
I thought I might close the distance.

But instead, she whispered:

"I need time."

And she left.

When I got home, my gold medal had fallen off its hook.
I didn't bother picking it up.

Instead, I stared at the math textbook on my desk.
Then at the empty notebook beside it.

And for the first time, I couldn't solve anything.