The moment Hina ended things with Reiji, she thought a heavy curtain would lift, bringing relief. Instead, there was only a suffocating silence and the sharp, piercing pain of guilt. The echoes of every moment she had pushed Ren away came crashing down, not like a gentle wave, but like a violent tidal surge that left her gasping. The memory of his quiet smile masking the pain, and the selfless way he stepped aside for her fleeting happiness—she felt the immense weight of it now, and it was unbearable. I was so cruel. I destroyed the most important thing I had.
She tried to frantically distract herself, burying her frantic, churning emotions in the rote cycle of schoolwork and routine. But the smallest things kept snagging her attention, pulling her back to him: the faint, shared melody on a passing student's headphones; the stretch of hallway where they always used to joke; the lunch table that now felt vast and cold, too empty for just her.
And then it happened.
It was late afternoon, the air beginning to cool and carry the smell of distant cooking. She saw him.
Ren… walking down the same, familiar path they used to take home together, the long shadows of the power poles stretching behind him. But he wasn't alone.
Beside him was a girl with soft, shoulder-length hair that caught the last light and a genuinely kind, unforced smile—Akari Minazuki. They weren't holding hands. They weren't touching. But there was something in the way their shoulders occasionally brushed, the rhythm of their steps perfectly matched—light, comfortable, genuine.
Hina stopped dead in her tracks, her breath catching hard in her throat as if she'd run into a glass wall. The light, easy laughter that floated through the air from their direction hit her not like a sound, but like a physical, stinging slap.
He's happy. He's truly, easily happy.
She spun around quickly, her heart pounding a frantic, desperate rhythm against her ribs. Her vision instantly blurred as hot, stinging tears sprang to her eyes. She ran—not because she hated Akari, but because the sight delivered a truth she had savagely ignored for too long.
She had lost him.
And it was irrevocably, devastatingly her fault.
The days that followed were consumed by this quiet, internal storm. Hina barely spoke. Her friends noticed her abnormal silence, the way her smiles were hollow and brittle, but she brushed them off. At night, she stared at her phone screen, the blue light harsh in the darkness, hovering over Ren's name again and again. What do I even say? 'Sorry I destroyed your heart, can we go back to normal?'
It took her three full days—three days of aching shame and sleepless guilt—to gather the courage to finally type out a message:
"Can we talk?"
She sent it, placing the phone face down, preparing for the crushing weight of silence or rejection. But within minutes, the screen lit up. His reply came, simple and direct.
"Sure. Same place?"
Her heart thudded, a loud, hopeful bang against the inside of her chest. He still remembered the park bench. He remembered the place where I broke him.
That afternoon, the sky was a muted gray, thick with low-hanging clouds. The wind was gentle, rustling the dry leaves on the path, as if nature itself knew something profoundly fragile was about to unfold. Hina stood in the quiet park where they'd last spoken—where Ren had calmly poured out his guarded feelings, and she had shattered them with indifference.
Then she saw him.
Ren, standing near the bench, hands tucked casually into his pockets, his posture relaxed. His eyes were calm, but deeply unreadable, like a still, dark lake. The instant their eyes met across the grass, Hina's carefully constructed resolve crumbled into dust.
She walked toward him, her legs heavy and uncertain, barely able to hold her composure.
"I'm sorry," she blurted out, the word escaping before she could control her voice, which was already cracking with emotion. "I know I don't deserve to even say this to you, but… I'm so sorry, Ren."
He didn't move, didn't utter a word. He simply watched her, his expression a steady anchor.
"I avoided you," she continued, the truth tumbling out now, raw and painful. "I lied, I pushed you away... when all you ever did was be there for me." Her breath hitched, catching in a dry sob. "And I—I didn't realize what I had until I lost it. Until I saw you... with her."
The moment she mentioned Akari, Ren's eyes softened just a fraction, a brief flash of warmth, but his overall expression remained steady and unaccusing.
"I didn't cry when Reiji cheated on me," she confessed, the tears finally falling freely now, hot and heavy on her cheeks. "But I cried when I saw you smiling with someone else. Because that's when it hit me. I lost the only person who truly cared."
Ren finally spoke, his voice calm, clear, and utterly lacking in malice.
"I never asked you to choose me, Hina. I just wanted you to be happy."
She looked at him, trembling, the salt of her tears stinging her lips. "Can we… can we be friends again?"
A long pause stretched between them, filled only by the whisper of the wind through the leaves.
Then, with the gentlest smile—the kind that once felt like a warm, protective blanket—Ren replied,
"What do you mean be friends again? We never stopped."
The words struck her like lightning—not with pain, but with blinding relief. A sharp, disbelieving breath escaped her lips, half-laugh, half-sob. He hadn't held the cruelty against her. He hadn't closed his heart and locked the door.
He still cared.
Ren took a step closer, raising the back of his hand—his skin cool against her wet cheek—and gently brushed a tear away. "We all make mistakes. And yeah, it hurt. But I'm okay now. And if you're trying to make things right… then I'm here."
They turned and walked slowly back together, side by side. No more forced smiles, no more awkward, crushing silence—just two people slowly and tentatively healing the wide distance that had formed between them.
As they reached her house, the streetlights flickering on above them, Ren turned to her with that same soft smile.
"Then… see you tomorrow?"
Hina nodded, her heart finally feeling a little lighter, the tight knot of guilt in her chest easing for the first time in weeks.
"Yeah. See you tomorrow, Ren."
And for the first time in a long while, she meant it completely.
THE EDGE OF SOMETHING LOST HAD BECOME THE START OF SOMETHING RENEWED. ONE MESSAGE LEFT UNSENT, AND THE SILENCE THAT FOLLOWED, AND SUDDENLY, EVERYTHING FELT DIFFERENT