The waves crashed relentlessly against the rocks, white foam spraying into the air. The wind tugged at Aiyumi's hair and soaked her sleeves, but she barely noticed. Her whole world had shrunk to him — standing there, distant and unmovable, staring at the horizon.
"Ren… please… just talk to me," she begged, voice cracking. "I… I don't understand why you're like this!"
He didn't turn. Not a flicker of softness, not a hint of apology. Only the same cold tone, sharp and cutting:
"I said stop asking. If you keep like this… I won't talk to you again. Don't push me, Aiyumi."
Her heart felt like it shattered in slow motion. The words were brutal, yet she couldn't look away. She fell to her knees in the wet sand, clutching her sketchbook — her only connection to him.
"Ren… I'll take it… whatever you do, whatever you say… I just… I don't want to lose you!" she sobbed.
He glanced at her briefly, just enough to see her trembling, but his expression stayed cold, unreadable.
"You're making it worse," he muttered, stepping closer to the waterline, turning his back on her pain. "Stop begging. Stop crying. I don't have time for this."
Aiyumi's tears mingled with the sea spray, salty and relentless. Her chest ached, her hands shook, but still she whispered:
"Ren… please… … I don't care how harsh you are… I'll endure it… just don't leave me."
He didn't answer. He didn't move. The sea roared in the background, indifferent, mirroring the storm in her chest.
Hours could have passed like this — her heart breaking in silence, his back never turning, never softening, never showing a crack.
She realized something terrifying: her love alone wasn't enough to reach him. Not yet. And maybe… it might never be.
The waves kept crashing, the wind kept blowing, and Aiyumi stayed kneeling on the wet sand — broken, desperate, and completely devoted to someone who wouldn't let her in.