The argument had spilled out onto the quiet suburban street, the night still but for the sharp edge of their voices. Anya's tone, tight with frustration, cut through the silence like glass breaking.
"It's just that you never listen, Hokata! I said I wanted the blue one, not the grey!"
Hokata's jaw clenched, his voice low, rumbling with the weight of his annoyance. "For God's sake, Anya, it's a dishrag! Does it honestly matter what color it is?" He threw his hands up in exasperation, his shadow stretching long beneath the flickering streetlight. "This is ridiculous. We're standing in the middle of the street at two in the morning arguing about a dishrag."
"Maybe if you paid attention for once—" Anya's words broke off in an instant. A monstrous roar split the night as a dump truck hurtled down the street, its headlights blazing like the eyes of some unstoppable beast.
Time seemed to fracture. Anya's eyes went wide with terror, and with a strangled cry she lunged forward, her palms colliding with Hokata's chest, shoving him with all the desperate strength in her body. At the same moment, Hokata's instincts flared. His hands shot out, gripping her shoulders, his intent mirroring hers—to push her clear, to save her no matter the cost. Their frantic efforts tangled, a storm of limbs, gasps, and fear. For one brief, terrible second, they were locked in that futile dance—before everything collapsed into darkness. The argument dissolved into darkness, and when Anya's eyes opened again, the night was gone.
The street, the dump truck, the fear — all of it had vanished. In its place came the soft chatter of students, the squeak of shoes against linoleum, the faint smell of chalk and old books. She blinked rapidly, her chest rising and falling as if she had just sprinted, her body trembling with leftover terror. When the blur in her vision cleared, her heart nearly stopped.
Rows of lockers stretched down the hall. Posters about the spring festival clung to the walls. Sunlight streamed in through the windows, painting everything with the golden warmth of late afternoon. Anya's breath caught. This place… I know this place. And then she saw him, Hokata. He was standing just a few steps away, adjusting the strap of his bag, his hair catching the light in a way she remembered all too well. He looked younger, sharper — untouched by the weariness that years had etched into his features. His eyes wandered idly across the hallway, unfocused, until they landed on her. But there was no recognition. None at all. Her stomach twisted. This was it. This exact hallway, this exact afternoon. The memory rushed back, sharp and vivid. This was the day she had gathered every ounce of courage in her sixteen-year-old heart and confessed her feelings to him. The day her voice had trembled but her determination had burned bright. The day everything had begun.
Her throat tightened. Ten years ago. I'm here. Again. Her heart pounded so loudly it drowned out the sounds of the hallway. Relief surged through her — he was alive, she was alive — but it tangled with a piercing fear. He doesn't remember. He doesn't know me. Not yet.
"Hokata…" she whispered, her voice cracking, though she hadn't meant to speak. He turned at the sound of his name, brows furrowing slightly, as if puzzled that a stranger had spoken to him. Anya's hands trembled at her sides. This is it. This is the moment I confessed. My chance, all over again. But now the weight of ten years pressed against her chest. The fights, the distance, the slow unraveling of love — all of it loomed behind her like shadows. She had loved him once. She still did. But could she walk that path again? She took a shaky breath. Her lips parted.
"Do I still love him?" she whispered to herself, so faintly the words dissolved into the air. Hokata tilted his head, his confusion deepening, his gaze still resting on her. He didn't know. Not yet.
And Anya realized with a trembling certainty — fate had pulled her back to the moment her life had changed. Back to the moment she had first laid her heart bare. Her pulse quickened, every beat loud enough to drown out in the world. The memory surged through her—how her voice had shaken, how her hand had blurted it out before she lost her nerve.
But now? Now she knew what came after. The love, yes—but also the nights spent in silence, the sharp words, the slow unravelling. Do i want to walk through all that again?
Her throat ached with the question, but when she opened her mouth, nothing came out.
Hokata tilted his head slightly, studying her. "Uh... are you okay?" His voice was calm, careful, like he wasn't sure if he should even be asking. Anya blinked rapidly, her chest tightening. "I..." She trailed off, the words dying on her tongue. For a heartbeat, the hallway seemed suspended in time—the light, the quiet, the boy watching her with faint confusion. This was her chance. Her second chance. And yet she stood frozen, caught between the weight of the past and the uncertainty of what might come. Her lips trembled, her hands curling into fists, Not yet. Not yet. She whispered to herself, Anya's Throat still tightened, but still she said nothing. The words she longed to speak pressed like stones against her chest, but her lips still refused to let them out. Hokata shifted adjusting his bag, his brows furrowing as he studied her. "You look... kind of pale" he said slowly. "Are you lost or something?" The casual tone cut into her heart. Lost? in a way, she supposed she was. Lost in time, lost in feelings she wasn't sure she wanted to rekindle. She almost laughed, but the sound stuck in her throat "I'm fine" she murmured, her voice softer than she intended. She lowered her gaze to the floor, gripping the strap of her own bag as though it could anchor her to this strange, impossible reality.
But Hokata didn't move on. He lingered, his head tilted slightly, his expression caught between curiosity and concern. His eyes, so familiar and yet untouched by the years, seemed to search her face for something. "You… don't go here, do you?" he asked at last. Anya's breath caught. She remembered this. His uncertainty, his cautious curiosity. Back then, she had laughed nervously, cheeks red, before blurting everything out. She had told him how she liked him, how she had watched him from afar, how she couldn't hold it in anymore. But now… the weight of memory held her still. She could see the whole line of their story stretching ahead of her, sharp and jagged as broken glass. Her heart whispered: Say it. Tell him. It's your chance. Her mind whispered back: Don't. You'll only break again. The silence stretched. She could feel his eyes on her, patient but questioning. Her fingers trembled as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, avoiding his gaze. And then—unexpectedly—Hokata smiled. Just a small curve of his lips, uncertain but warm, the kind of smile that had first pulled her to him all those years ago. "You're acting like you know me," he said lightly. "Do I… know you?" The question hit her like a knife. Her chest ached, her breath faltered. Yes, she wanted to scream. You do. You knew me better than anyone. You held me when I cried. You loved me. And I—
Her hands tightened into fists at her sides, her entire body quivering with the effort of restraint. Anya's pulse thundered in her ears, every second stretching longer than the last. Hokata's question lingered in the air between them—gentle, almost teasing, yet unbearably sharp. "Uhm Hello?… Do I know you?". He repeated, The smile on his lips was small, tentative, unguarded. It was the smile that had undone her all those years ago. And standing here again, in this hallway, in this impossible second chance, Anya felt the dam inside her begin to crack. Her throat burned. Her hands trembled. Not yet… she told herself again. But the words inside her had waited ten years, buried beneath arguments and silences, regret and longing. They weren't going to wait any longer. Her breath hitched. "Yes," she whispered, too softly for him to hear. "What?" Hokata leaned a little closer, brow furrowing. The crack inside her widened, and suddenly everything came rushing out. Her voice trembled, rising with the force of emotions she could no longer hold back. "Yes, you know me," she said, louder now, her chest heaving. "You don't remember, but—I know you. I've always known you. I…" She broke off, pressing a shaking hand to her chest, trying to hold in the storm. "I loved you, Hokata. I loved you then, and even after everything, I—" Her voice faltered, eyes stinging as she forced the words past the lump in her throat. "I still love you." The hallway seemed to still, the muffled voices of other students fading into nothing. All she could hear was her own ragged breathing, all she could see was the shock flickering across Hokata's face—the wide eyes, the sudden tension in his shoulders. For a heartbeat, neither of them moved. And then Anya laughed softly through her tears, a fragile sound, full of disbelief at her own courage. "I can't believe I said it again," she whispered, more to herself than to him. Her heart pounded so hard it hurt. She had done it—again. Laid herself bare. Given him everything. And now… now she could only wait.
Would he walk away this time? Or would fate, merciful for once, let him choose her all over again and try to change the love that was once unravelling?