The final bell's metallic, shrill cry had long since faded. Now, the main hallway was a vast, echoing space, silent save for the rhythmic, gentle thud-clack of a janitor mopping a distant floor and the soft chuff of air vents kicking on. The scent of old wax and dry chalk hung in the air, the characteristic smell of a school after hours.
Hina was closing her locker when she realized she wasn't alone.
Ren stood a few feet away, leaning casually against the adjacent wall, his form silhouetted by the window light at the end of the corridor. His presence, quiet and unexpected, made the small, rhythmic motion of her fingers on the lock dial stop.
"Hey," he said, his voice a low, even murmur that didn't dare break the stillness. He pushed off the wall and straightened, his hands slipping into his trouser pockets. "Daiki wants to talk to you."
Hina blinked, a slow, hesitant movement. The simple statement felt loaded.
Daiki. The name brought a familiar, faint tension to her shoulders. "Daiki?"
"Yeah." Ren offered a subtle, half-lift of his lips—a signal that wasn't quite a smile, but something close. "I think... he wants to make things right."
She searched his expression. His eyes were steady and non-judgmental. He wasn't telling her to go; he was simply opening a door. He had that look of quiet conviction, that familiar, unwavering belief in the possibility of good outcomes, that always gave her pause. It was that faith, more than anything, that convinced her. Her jaw unclenched almost imperceptibly.
"Okay," she said softly, a barely audible sigh escaping with the word. "I'll hear him out."
Ren gave a small, affirming nod, his eyes softening a fraction. "See you tomorrow, Hina."
He turned then, already halfway through the process of pulling his earbuds from his jacket pocket and settling them in place—a silent signal that her time with Daiki was private, and he wouldn't be lurking. As he walked away, his steps were quiet, quickly absorbed by the empty hallway.
She stepped out of the school's shadowed entrance and into the late afternoon. The air immediately felt different—cooler, lighter. The sun was dipping low, spilling golden, syrupy light across the pavement and turning the old brick walls of the school a rich, warm terracotta. A cool, playful breeze swept through the front yard, carrying the clean, earthy scent of damp grass.
That's when she saw him.
Daiki was waiting near the main gate. His posture was coiled and uncertain: hands shoved deep into his jeans pockets, his shoulders hunched, and his gaze fixed resolutely on the ground, as if he expected the earth to swallow him whole at any moment. The breeze occasionally lifted and ruffled the messy strands of his dark hair, but he remained perfectly still until he heard the subtle crunch of her footsteps on the gravel path.
He flinched slightly, then slowly lifted his head.
"Hina," he said, his voice rough and low, the sound of a person who had spent too long rehearsing this one sentence. His eyes, though finally meeting hers, were clouded with discomfort. "I... wanted to say sorry."
He rushed the words, saying them fast and flat, like trying to get a bitter medicine down before he could taste it.
He looks genuinely miserable, she thought, a knot in her own stomach easing slightly.
"I judged you too fast," he continued, his gaze dropping again, unable to hold her steady look. "I thought I was protecting Ren, but maybe... maybe I was just holding onto the past. Holding onto what I saw you do—and not what I didn't see. Like how hard you're trying now."
There was no bluster, no defensive edge in his voice—only a raw, stripped-down honesty that surprised her. He seemed utterly exposed.
Hina tilted her head slightly, her gaze unwavering. "Raise your head, Daiki."
He blinked and looked up, confusion etched on his face.
"You were just being a good friend," she said, her tone calm and steady, like smoothing out a crumpled piece of paper. "If I were in your place, seeing what you saw, maybe I would've done the same."
Daiki's eyes widened a little, a genuine shock registering in their depths. His lips parted silently. She's not mad?
"You mean that?" he whispered.
She nodded, a faint, soft smile curving her mouth. "You care about Ren. That much is obvious. And now that I see that clearly... I'm glad."
Then, her whole expression shifted. A light, genuine laugh bubbled up—a sweet sound that immediately broke the heavy tension. She tilted her head playfully, stepping closer.
"So... will you be my friend?"
Daiki stared at her, his composure completely dissolving. His shoulders tensed, and his eyes searched her face as if she'd just asked him to leap off the roof. "Wait, what? Even after everything?"
Hina chuckled again, the sound now rich and easy. "I was a little scared of you at first, yeah. You were like this storm cloud hovering near Ren, always ready to strike."
A guilty, sheepish grin finally cracked through Daiki's rigid expression. "That bad, huh?"
"But now," she continued, her voice warm, "I know you're just a good guy with a loud mouth and a big heart."
He scratched the back of his neck, a deep, obvious flush creeping up his throat and staining his cheeks. "You're weird, you know that?"
"I've been told," she replied, laughing softly.
They shared a moment of genuine laughter, a sound that finally banished the lingering awkwardness and regret, melting away the weeks of tension like sunlight burning off morning mist.
As the cool, whispering breeze brushed past them again, Hina looked back toward the empty school building, toward the corridor where Ren had disappeared moments earlier.
This whole thing…
Her heart warmed with a sudden, profound realization. Daiki was here, offering a clumsy apology and a quiet truce. And Ren had been the bridge—the quiet architect of this connection, arranging the space and the moment, then stepping back to let them figure it out.
A small, delighted smile bloomed fully on her lips. So it was Ren's plan after all. To help her and Daiki understand each other. To heal what was cracked. To connect what felt separate.
She turned back to Daiki, her eyes soft and clear, her chest feeling lighter and more spacious than it had in weeks.
And in the quiet, grateful corner of her mind, she whispered to herself with deep affection:
"Ren is so nice."
THREADS INTERTWINED
SOME BONDS FORM SLOWLY… BUT WHEN THEY DO, THEY WRAP TIGHTER THAN YOU EXPECT.