That night, the rain hadn't stopped.
It whispered against Ren's window — steady, like a voice that refused to fade.
He sat on the edge of his bed, phone in hand.
Aiyumi's name glowed faintly on the screen.
No message. No call.
Just silence.
He had said too much.
No — he had said exactly what he didn't mean.
Her face kept flashing in his mind — those trembling hands, the way her voice cracked when she said, "I never wanted to break it…"
He buried his face in his hands.
Why did he always push away the ones he wanted to protect?
The rain grew louder.
And with every drop, memories poured back —
Aiyumi laughing under the same rain years ago, holding her sketchbook like it was her world.
Her tiny hands tugging at his sleeve when they were kids, saying,
"Ren, promise me you'll never stop talking to me, okay?"
He smiled bitterly.
"I broke that promise," he whispered to himself.
On the desk beside him lay a folded paper — one of her old drawings.
A small doodle she'd once slipped into his notebook without saying a word.
He unfolded it gently.
Two chibi figures — one with messy hair, one with a long braid — holding hands under an umbrella.
Below, her handwriting:
"We'll never fight for real, right?"
Ren's vision blurred.
He closed his eyes, the ache in his chest heavier than words could carry.
"She still remembers the good parts," he murmured. "And I… only remember how I ruined them."
His phone buzzed once — a message from one of his friends — but he didn't open it.
He just sat there, staring at that drawing,
wishing time could bend —
just enough to take back the words he never meant to say.
Outside, the rain softened.
But inside Ren's heart — it never stopped.