Days passed after the rain.
Aiyumi and Ren started talking again — not much, just small things.
A "hi" in the corridor.
A "careful, it's slippery" near the stairs.
A "did you finish the assignment?" before class ended.
They spoke like strangers with memories.
The world around them still looked the same — the same college walls, same coffee corner, same walk to the gate —
but their bond wasn't the same.
The comfort was gone, replaced by hesitation.
Even their smiles had changed — softer, cautious, almost scared to break something again.
Sometimes Aiyumi wanted to joke like before,
to call him "stupid" or mock his handwriting,
but the words stopped in her throat.
She was afraid he'd go silent again.
Ren too, deep inside, wanted to talk like old times —
to hear her endless stories,
to fight over silly things —
but now, every time he looked at her, he saw the day she cried and apologized.
And guilt kept him quiet.
One evening, they were walking back after class.
He still dropped her home like always —
but this time, the ride was filled with silence instead of laughter.
The road stretched long,
the wind cold,
and between them, only unspoken words floated.
Aiyumi looked sideways — he was focused on the road.
Her fingers tightened on her bag.
He's right here, she thought, but it feels like I lost him somewhere far away.
When they reached her gate, she smiled weakly.
"Thanks," she said.
He nodded. "Take care."
Two words. That's all.
But both of them carried a whole story inside those words —
of friendship, distance, and feelings neither of them knew how to fix.
💭 Sometimes, people don't drift apart by choice —
they just change in silence, waiting for the other to break it.