Secret Patterns

2. Patterns in the Quiet

Morning began with the soft shuffle of slippers across the dorm floor.
Rumi hummed under her breath as she brewed tea, Zoey was already sprawled across the couch scrolling through memes, and Mira sat cross-legged at the dining table, hair pinned back, notebook open and pen tapping in rhythm with the clock on the wall. Rin had been awake for hours, but she emerged from her room as if she'd just stirred.

"Morning," Rumi said, sliding a mug toward her. Chamomile. Always chamomile for Rin.

"Morning," Rin answered, voice low, wrapped in the ritual. She didn't say she'd been at the gym since five, trading sleep for iron and sweat and silence.

⸻

Practice Floor

By mid-morning, they were on the practice floor again, running the same choreography until it blurred into muscle memory. Jae barked corrections, Mira scribbled adjustments, Zoey joked too loudly, and Rumi kept them glued together with soft encouragement.

Rin drifted in their wake—present, precise, but never the one who drew the eye. She built her performance like scaffolding: invisible unless you knew where to look.

"Rin, tighter turn on count six," Jae called.

She nodded, corrected, nailed it the next pass. The girls cheered half-heartedly through their own exhaustion, but it was enough to make the moment sting less.

⸻

Between the Beats

During break, Zoey flopped onto the floor, pointing at Rin's sleeves. "You're gonna roast alive one day, I swear. Crop tops are for freedom. Sleeves are for nuns."

Rin smirked. "Then I guess I'm halfway balanced."

Rumi shot her a look—warm, but searching. It was the same look she always gave when Rin dodged too neatly. The one that said I know there's more.

Mira sipped her water and wrote something down. Rin didn't ask. She never asked.

⸻

The Lunch Table

Lunch was bento boxes again, eaten on the floor with backs against mirrors. Zoey scattered jokes like confetti, trying to shake off fatigue. Rumi leaned into Rin's shoulder, soft as if she'd forgotten how heavy the world could be. Mira outlined the afternoon: rehearsal footage review, vocal run, livestream prep.

Rin listened. She contributed when asked. But her gaze kept slipping to the window, where storm clouds gathered thick and blue, the air heavy with rain that hadn't fallen yet. Something about that color lodged in her chest.

⸻

The Furnace

The vocal drill after lunch tested her more than she let show. The new arrangement threaded a solo line through the pre-chorus—hers, temporary, until they confirmed the final distribution. Rin's stomach coiled. Alone + song = harvest.

When the measure came, she forced her voice into it. The net trembled, spread, reached. She snapped her teeth shut the moment Rumi and Zoey slid in beside her, Mira lifting harmony above them like scaffolding. The net broke. She exhaled.

"Good," the coach said. "That's color I want to keep."

Rin bowed her head. Inside, her chest still burned.

⸻

Dorm Calm

Evening draped soft around the dorm when they returned. Rumi pulled out a sketchpad, Mira drafted notes, Zoey set up a game stream with the kind of volume that filled all the cracks. Rin retreated to the window, knees drawn up, tea cooling at her side.

Outside, rain began.

And with it—blue again. A flicker at the corner of her vision. Heavy padding she almost heard. On the balcony railing, a bird cocked its head. Small, strange. A hat perched between eyes that multiplied when she dared to focus.

Rin's breath stilled.

"You'll follow me whether I see you or not, won't you?" she murmured, too quiet for anyone else to hear.

The bird did not answer. The blue did not move.

Behind her, Zoey shouted at her game, Rumi laughed, Mira shushed them both.
In front of her, the city sang under rain.

Rin pressed her forehead to the glass and whispered the rulebook again:
Be normal. Be quiet. Be kinder than the thing that lives in you.

For now, that was enough.