The Quarrel

The studio lights flickered overhead, the air thick with exhaustion and unspoken words. Sweat dripped from the mirrors, reflecting two girls who hadn’t looked at each other in hours.

“Again, from the chorus,” the instructor had said before leaving them alone to fix their synchronization. But they didn’t move. They just stood there — Reia with her arms crossed, Anko clutching her water bottle so tightly it nearly cracked.

“Your timing’s off again,” Reia finally muttered, voice sharp as glass.

Anko’s head snapped up. “Excuse me? I’m off? You’re the one who keeps changing the tempo!”

Reia scoffed. “Maybe if you actually listened, we’d finish this faster.”

Anko’s chest rose. “Maybe if you stopped acting like you’re the leader, we’d actually feel like a team!”

The words echoed off the walls.

Something in Reia’s eyes flickered — anger, pride, maybe hurt. “Then stop depending on me,” she said coldly, grabbing her bag.

Anko bit her lip hard, voice trembling but defiant. “Fine. I will.”

Reia slammed the door on her way out.

The sound of her footsteps faded.

Anko sank to the floor, her throat burning. “Why does she always make me feel so small…”

Hours passed. Practice ended for everyone. The dorm lights dimmed one by one.

Reia lay on her bed, pretending to scroll through her phone. The silence of the room felt heavier than usual.

When she finally looked up, she noticed something — Anko’s side of the room was empty. The bed untouched. Her phone charger still plugged in.

Reia frowned. “She’s… still not back?”

She waited another hour. Then two.

Her heart started pounding.

“She wouldn’t… go out alone, right?”

Reia threw on her hoodie, shoved her phone in her pocket, and ran out into the cold night.

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