He understood that apologies were not invitations to explanations. He slid a notebook across the desk and beneath it a new note, the sort of one he had learned to write: brief, honest, unadorned.
The bell above the classroom door chimed like a tiny apology. Even though the day had ended, sunlight pooled on the teacher’s desk in honeyed rectangles, and the room smelled faintly of chalk and old paper. He lingered by the window, sleeves rolled to his forearms, watching dust swim through the light as if through a slow, private ocean. toshoshitsu no kanojo seiso na kimi ga ochiru m upd
"You're late," he said without turning.
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