Grade 4: First Light
Fourth grade felt like the beginning of something he couldn't name. It wasn't dramatic. There was no grand event, no shift in the earth's rhythm. But to Kai, something had changed. Something subtle. Like the soft click of a door being unlocked somewhere deep inside him.
He had always been quiet—not out of fear, not exactly. It was more of a natural state, like leaves staying still before the wind. Speaking too loudly felt like painting over a quiet song. His thoughts moved in gentle, inward spirals. He preferred to observe, to listen, to let the world pass through him like wind through the trees.
He knew most people didn't notice him. He didn't mind. It was easier that way. Less complicated.
But that year, everything began to shift.
It started with a girl.
It was the second week of the new school year, and Kai was sitting in the corner of the classroom, sketching lightly in his notebook. Not anything in particular—just the shape of the classroom window, the folds of the curtains, the way the light moved across the floor.
"You draw a lot, don't you?"
The voice was soft but clear, like water over smooth stones. He looked up.
It was her.
She had a gentle face, with wide, curious eyes that didn't flinch when they met his. Her uniform was neat, her bangs tucked behind one ear. She held a book close to her chest—Anne of Green Gables, he would later remember.
He blinked, caught off guard. "Um… I guess."
"What are you drawing?"
He looked down at his sketchpad. "Just… stuff. The light."
She smiled a little. "That's cool. I like the way you shade things. It feels… calm."
He didn't know what to say to that. No one had ever said anything like that to him before. Most kids didn't even realize he drew.
"I'm Aira," she added, tilting her head slightly.
"Kai."
Her smile widened a bit. "Nice to meet you, Kai."
And just like that, something shifted.
It wasn't dramatic. But it was enough.
—
Aira and Riku were in the same class, just like him. Riku was the opposite of Kai in almost every way. Loud, bouncy, wild. He had this energy that made it seem like he couldn't sit still even if he wanted to. He wore a cap almost all the time—even indoors—and had a collection of rubber bands he used to flick at unsuspecting classmates. The teachers scolded him daily. It didn't seem to bother him.
Kai expected Riku to ignore him like most others did.
But then came lunch.
One afternoon, Kai sat alone at his desk, opening his neatly packed bento. He didn't mind eating alone. It gave him time to think, to draw, or to look out the window.
"Hey!"
He jumped slightly.
Riku stood beside him, grinning wide. "Is that rolled omelette?"
Kai blinked. "…Yeah."
"That's my favorite." Without asking, Riku plopped himself down across from him and opened his own lunchbox. "Wanna trade one for my shrimp tempura?"
Kai hesitated. "Uh… okay."
"Sweet."
They swapped food. Then Riku noticed Kai's notebook. "You draw?"
"…Yeah."
Riku leaned over and flipped a few pages, eyes wide. "Whoa. Dude. These are awesome. You draw like, people too?"
"Sometimes."
"You should draw me riding a dragon."
Kai gave a small smile. "Okay."
And that was it. Riku stuck to him like glue after that.
At first, it was exhausting. The noise, the chaos, the constant chatter. Riku talked during class, during lunch, even during bathroom breaks. He had opinions about everything—snacks, cartoons, gym class, homework. Kai barely said a word most of the time. But strangely, he didn't mind.
Riku brought volume into his quiet world, and somehow, it fit.
—
But it was Aira who stayed in his mind the most.
She didn't talk to him every day. Just sometimes. When she passed by his desk and noticed a new sketch. When they were paired for a group project. When she caught him looking out the window during break.
"Thinking again?" she'd say, gently teasing.
"Just… watching," he'd reply.
She was always kind. Not in the way adults tried to be kind—smiling too much, talking down. Aira's kindness felt natural, like sunlight warming your skin. She didn't try too hard. She just saw him. That was enough.
One morning, he saw her standing by the classroom window. The early sunlight poured in behind her, soft and gold, catching in her hair. She wasn't doing anything special—just reading. But something about the way the light fell, the way she stood, the peaceful look on her face—it felt like a moment that should've been remembered.
So he did.
He went home that day and drew the window.
Then the light.
Then her.
He didn't know why.
He just knew it mattered.
—
The weeks passed. School became something he looked forward to—not for the lessons, but for the small moments.
For Riku yelling his name across the hall.
For Aira's quiet comments and gentle glances.
For the way their little trio began to form, slowly, naturally.
Riku, loud and wild, always dragging them into trouble—trying to build forts behind the school, convincing Kai to sketch "battle maps," challenging Aira to race him during recess.
Aira, patient and clever, rolling her eyes at Riku's antics but always playing along. She loved stories, and sometimes she'd tell them while they all sat on the grass. Kai never interrupted, but he always listened closely. Her voice painted pictures better than he could draw.
And Kai—watching, sketching, slowly speaking more.
He wasn't sure when it happened, but the world didn't feel quite so distant anymore.
He started raising his hand in class. Just once or twice.
He started walking home with them sometimes. Not saying much, but smiling more.
He started to laugh. Really laugh.
He still preferred the quiet. But now, the quiet had company.
—
One afternoon, after school, the three of them sat by the soccer field, sharing snacks.
"Do you think we'll still be in the same class next year?" Riku asked, chewing loudly on seaweed chips.
"I hope so," Aira said. "It's nice."
Kai nodded, watching the clouds drift by.
"You never say much," Riku added, turning to him. "But when you do, it's like—boom. Hits different."
Aira laughed. "He's thoughtful. Not like you."
"Hey!"
They all laughed.
Kai didn't say it, but he thought it.
He hoped they'd stay like this forever.
—
That night, as he sat by his window, sketching the soccer field from memory, he felt something warm settle in his chest.
Fourth grade had brought him friends. A voice that reached him when he didn't even know he wanted to be heard. A friendship that didn't need words to be real.
And a girl with sunlight in her hair, who saw something in him when no one else did.
It was only the beginning.
But it was enough to change everything.
He closed his notebook gently, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.
For the first time, the silence in his room didn't feel empty.
It felt full.