"Sometimes the distance between two people isn't measured in miles, but in the things they're afraid to say before the rain stops."
Kazuki almost didn't go.
He stood by the door longer than usual, staring at his shoes. It wasn't dramatic. He just felt tired in a way that had nothing to do with sleep. Thursdays used to feel accidental. Now they felt deliberate. Chosen. That made them heavier.
He grabbed his jacket anyway.
The rain had started before he stepped outside. Not loud. Just steady enough to blur the edges of the street. By the time he reached the bus stop, his hands were cold.
Ame wasn't there yet.
He told himself that didn't matter. She was usually a few minutes behind him. Still, he checked the road twice.
When she finally appeared at the corner, umbrella tilted slightly against the wind, something in his chest loosened.
"You look like you're thinking too hard," she said once she stepped under the shelter.
"I am."
"About?"
He hesitated. "How many Thursdays we have left."
She didn't smile at that. She didn't deflect it either.
"Two after today," she said quietly.
He nodded.
The number sat between them.
They both watched the road as if the bus might erase it.
It didn't come.
Five minutes passed. Then ten.
Ame checked her phone. "There's a delay."
"How long?"
"Thirty minutes."
Kazuki exhaled through his nose. "That's annoying."
She tilted her head, studying him. "Is it?"
"Yes."
"You don't sound annoyed."
He didn't answer.
Because he wasn't. Not exactly.
Waiting here had become their routine. The delay felt like an interruption to something fragile. If the bus was late, then the ending was late. And if the ending was late, then maybe—
"Let's not stay," Ame said suddenly.
He looked at her. "What?"
"Let's go somewhere else."
He glanced at the road again. "What if it comes?"
"It won't."
"You don't know that."
She stepped closer, lowering her voice. "Kazuki."
He met her eyes.
"If we only ever meet here, then this place becomes the whole story."
The rain picked up slightly, tapping harder against the metal roof.
"And I don't want that," she added.
That was enough.
They left the shelter without another argument.
They walked under her umbrella. It took a second to adjust their pace. He had longer strides; she slowed him down without saying it out loud. Their shoulders brushed once, then again. Neither moved away.
The covered shopping street wasn't far, but it felt like crossing some invisible line.
Kazuki realized he'd memorized the bus stop. The cracks in the pavement. The stain near the bench. The way the wind always came from the left.
He hadn't memorized anything beyond it.
"You've never asked where I'm moving," Ame said as they walked.
He kept his eyes forward. "I figured you'd tell me when you wanted to."
"That's not an answer."
He swallowed. "I don't like picturing it."
She was quiet for a moment.
"It's not that far," she said. "Just far enough."
"Far enough for what?"
"For things to change."
That landed harder than he expected.
They reached the shopping street. The sound of rain softened under the roof. The air felt warmer.
A bakery near the entrance had its lights on. Ame slowed down in front of it.
"You hungry?" he asked.
"A little."
They went inside.
The warmth hit them immediately. He hadn't realized how tense his shoulders were until they relaxed.
Ame studied the display case carefully, like she was choosing something important. Kazuki watched her instead of the bread.
She noticed.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"You're staring."
"I wasn't."
She raised an eyebrow.
He looked away first.
They sat near the window with their food. Rain streaked down the glass in thin lines.
"Are you scared?" she asked suddenly.
"Of what?"
"After I leave."
He didn't respond right away.
"Yes," he said finally.
She nodded like she expected that.
"Me too."
The honesty of it shifted something. It wasn't dramatic. Just real.
"I don't want this to become one of those things people say they had," he admitted. "Like a phase."
"It's not a phase."
"You can't promise that."
"I'm not promising. I'm saying it matters."
He looked at her then. Really looked at her.
"I know it matters," he said. "That's the problem."
They didn't talk for a minute after that.
Outside, someone ran past the window, trying to outrun the rain. Ame watched them go.
"We're not very good at pretending this is casual anymore," she said.
"No."
"Are you mad at me for leaving?"
The question was quiet. Careful.
He thought about lying. It would have been easier.
"Sometimes," he admitted.
She didn't flinch.
"That's fair."
"I don't want to be," he added quickly.
"I know."
The rain grew heavier again. Not violent. Just steady and unignorable.
After they finished eating, they stepped back outside.
The covered street felt different now. Smaller. Closer.
Ame walked slightly ahead this time. He watched the way she held the umbrella, the way she avoided puddles without looking down.
"Kazuki," she said without turning around.
"Yeah?"
"If I asked you to visit… would you?"
He didn't hesitate. "Yes."
She stopped walking.
He nearly bumped into her.
"That was fast."
"You asked."
"You didn't even think about it."
"I don't need to."
She searched his face for something — doubt, maybe. She didn't find it.
"You'd hate the train ride," she said softly.
"I'd hate not going more."
The words surprised him as much as they surprised her.
For a second, neither of them moved.
The rain was louder now. Hard enough to blur the edges of the street beyond the roofline.
"You make it hard to leave," she said.
"I'm not trying to."
"I know."
But he was.
Not intentionally. Just by being there.
They walked back toward the bus stop slowly.
This time, when they reached it, it didn't feel like the center of everything. It felt smaller than before.
A bus approached in the distance.
Ame didn't step forward immediately.
"Kazuki."
He looked at her.
"If this doesn't fade… if it stays… will you regret it?"
"Regret what?"
"Letting it get this far."
He shook his head. "No."
She searched his expression again, as if waiting for hesitation.
There wasn't any.
The bus pulled up.
The doors opened.
She didn't move.
For a moment, it felt like the world was waiting on her decision.
Then she stepped closer to him instead of the bus.
Not touching. Just close.
Close enough that he could see the faint crease between her brows.
"I don't want this to end at a bus stop," she said.
"It won't."
"How do you know?"
"Because we left today."
That made her breathe out a small laugh.
The driver cleared his throat impatiently.
She finally stepped back.
As she climbed onto the bus, she turned once.
He was still standing exactly where she left him.
The doors closed.
The bus pulled away.
Kazuki didn't move right away.
The rain continued. Steady. Relentless. Familiar.
But something had shifted.
They weren't pretending anymore.
And that made the next Thursday feel closer than either of them wanted to admit.