Miyako hadn't gone back to the old house since that day.She told herself it was because of the rain — or work, or time — but excuses had a way of sounding hollow when repeated too often.
Still, every time it rained, something inside her stirred.She'd pause by her office window, watching the city blur into watercolor, and her mind would drift to that abandoned house, to that boy with uncertain eyes and a heart too open for this world.
Ren.
He had looked at her like she was something worth believing in.And that scared her more than anything else.
She'd spent years teaching herself not to be believed in — not after the divorce, not after the loneliness that followed. Belief meant expectation, and expectation always turned into disappointment.She had survived by lowering her hopes, by living quietly, by being realistic.
Yet, in that broken house, his words had cracked through that calm surface.He spoke with the kind of honesty she had long buried — the kind that hurt because it reminded her what it was like to want something impossible.
She remembered the moment she touched his hair, the warmth of youth against her cold fingers.It was instinct, nothing more — a gesture of care, perhaps, but also a farewell she didn't say out loud.
"You'll start mistaking kindness for love."
She had meant those words to protect him.But as days passed, she began to realize she had been protecting herself just as much.
There was something in his eyes she didn't want to see again — that dangerous, unfiltered faith that love could fix broken things.Because she had once been like that.And she knew how much it cost to lose it.
One evening, as she left her office, she took a detour. Her shoes clicked softly against the wet pavement, the air smelling faintly of earth and rain.
She didn't go inside the house. She just stood outside, looking at it from across the road.A single window still glowed faintly with the reflection of streetlights.
It looked emptier than before — or maybe she was only now seeing it for what it was: a place where two lost people had found something that could never last.
She smiled a little. Sad, quiet. The kind of smile that comes after you've accepted both love and loss in the same breath.
Maybe, somewhere, he was still thinking of her.Maybe not.
But she hoped — truly hoped — that he would not wait anymore.That he'd learn to keep dreaming, but not be consumed by it.
Because if life had taught her anything, it was this:Dreams only stay beautiful when you know when to let them go.
Miyako turned away from the house, her umbrella catching the faint silver of the streetlight.The rain began again, gentle and unending.
She walked on — her footsteps steady, her heart quieter than it had been in years.