Kamakura — a quiet coastal city south of Tokyo. This morning, the air hung heavy, thick with the damp, saline scent of the nearby sea. A gentle, insistent summer breeze mixed with the rhythmic, distant swoosh of waves hitting the shore. The first bell of Kamakura Minami High School cut through the stillness, its high, tinny ring echoing off the concrete walls.
Ren Takahashi, 17, walked beneath the tall palm trees lining the street. He'd lived here all his life. Calm, observant, and habitually lost in the quiet eddies of his own mind, Ren was a collector of emotions, meticulously bottling up everything he felt and storing it behind his placid gaze. He spoke only when the silence could no longer hold the weight of what needed to be said.
Walking beside him was his best friend since childhood—Daiki Shiranui, also 17. Daiki was a force of nature: loud, quick to crack a joke, and always in restless motion. If Ren was the deep, patient tide, Daiki was the crashing wave, perpetually in motion. Their bond felt less like friendship and more like shared gravity—"one body, two souls."
"Dude, I swear the basketball hoop moved. Otherwise, I would've nailed that shot." Daiki spoke with a sweaty, frantic energy, his bright red shirt clinging to his shoulders.
Ren didn't even turn his head. A slight wrinkle formed between his eyebrows. "Moved? The hoop?"
"It had to. There's no way I missed," Daiki insisted, his voice rising in mock indignation.
A faint smirk pulled at the corner of Ren's mouth, a tiny, fleeting gesture that barely disturbed his calm face. He said nothing, the silence itself a gentle tease. They reached the school gates, the sun now fully cresting the eastern roofs, casting a harsh, pale gold light that made Ren squint slightly.
Ren Takahashi had always believed that timing was everything, a delicate mechanism that, once missed, could never be reset.
A quiet, thoughtful high schooler with eyes that held stories he never dared to speak, Ren had fallen for Hina Fujimoto the very first moment he saw her in the dusty, echoey halls of their primary school. But she wasn't just a friend. She was the friend. The kind who felt like home—familiar, warm, and, terrifyingly, untouchable.
Their bond had grown over the years, steady and unshakable, like ivy climbing an old stone wall. I can't lose this. I need her here, even if it's just beside me. And yet, Ren never confessed. He played the long game, telling himself: "Not yet. If I say it now… I might lose her forever."
Hina, meanwhile, carried her own little secret. She harbored a dizzy, accelerating crush on another boy: Reiji Kanzaki. Confident, charismatic, and possessing a mysterious, dark edge that made heads turn—and caused Hina's heart to flutter rapidly beneath her ribs—Reiji wasn't someone you'd forget. Hina found herself drawn to him almost instantly. But she never brought it up with Ren. Maybe I don't want to hurt him... or maybe I just don't know how to look him in the eyes and say it.
Then one day, fate leaned in.
A random street corner. A simple bump. An unexpected "Oh, sorry." That's all it took. That tiny spark turned into daily chats. Texts stretching late into the night, the cold screen lighting up their faces in the darkness. Secret smiles exchanged during class, the air between them suddenly electric. Before long, Reiji confessed. And Hina—her heart already leaning his way, beating an unpredictable rhythm against her sternum—said yes.
When she introduced him to Ren, her voice was deliberately casual, light, almost too bright. "This is Reiji—my boyfriend."
Ren's smile didn't falter. Not even for a millisecond. His facial muscles held the expression perfectly. "Congrats," he said, his voice flat but polite.
But inside, something crucial cracked—a silent, visceral sound that only he could hear. Why not me? The question screamed in the vault of his chest, a physical punch that made his lungs tighten, stealing his breath. But instead of letting it out, he swallowed it, along with every word, every sharp, acidic emotion. Her happiness, he rationalized, mattered more than the shattering of his own hidden hope.
Luckily, Ren wasn't alone in his internal wreckage.
Daiki Shiranui, his ride-or-die, had known for ages. Loyal and grounded, Daiki had always seen right through the impenetrable calm Ren projected. Ren didn't have to say much—Daiki just... knew.
But as weeks passed, the atmosphere around Hina started shifting, becoming noticeably cooler.
Reiji didn't like how close Hina was to Ren. And instead of confronting it with maturity, he made her choose. "You need to stop talking to him."
And Hina—fearful of losing the intoxicating new connection—obeyed.
At first, the changes were small. A missed text. A quick, flimsy excuse.
"I'm busy today." (Said with her eyes fixed on the floor.)
"Sorry, I have to get home." (Her posture rigid as she walked away.)
"Let's talk later, okay?" (Later turned into never.)
Ren noticed. Of course, I noticed.
He wasn't stupid. He saw her slipping away, message by message, glance by glance, like sand flowing through his closed fingers. But he didn't chase her. He simply let go—with that same quiet, heartbreaking dignity he always maintained.
"She has a boyfriend," he repeated to himself, the words tasting dry and unconvincing. "Things change."
But deep down, in the quiet core he never showed the world, he was breaking. The bottled emotions were pressing painfully against the walls of his control.
And one day, the pressure became too much.
After school, he waited for her near the empty bicycle racks, the late afternoon sun bleeding orange and pink into the sky, casting long, distorted shadows. He asked her to meet—just the two of them. No crowds. No interruptions. Just them and the fading light.
Ren spoke softly, carefully modulating his tone to keep the tremor out. His throat felt tight, dry.
"Hey, Hina… how have you been? It feels like it's been ages since we talked or spent time together. I know things change—that's just life." He paused, forcing himself to meet her eyes, which were darting nervously. "But there's something that keeps buzzing in my head, like a trapped fly against glass. Like... what did I do wrong? What really happened between us? I just don't understand what made you start avoiding me so suddenly. Why didn't I notice it sooner? And if things are going to stay like this… what happens next?"
Hina looked away for a moment, her face flushed, a faint crimson creeping up her neck and cheeks—the tell-tale sign of her discomfort. She shifted her weight, the sound of the gravel crunching under her shoe unnaturally loud.
She finally replied, her voice low and firm. "Don't be selfish, Ren."
The phrase hit him like a slap. He flinched internally, though his expression remained still.
"Like you said, things do change as time passes. People change. No one stays the same forever. You just have to learn to adjust… and let go—as if those things were just a part of who you used to be."
She didn't give a clear reason for avoiding him. She simply delivered the dismissal. I'm sorry, Ren. I'm so sorry, she thought frantically, the internal turmoil making her breath catch. Is it okay... to end things like this? Back then, she was already wrapped in the arms of someone else's attention, and that reality outweighed their shared past.
And without another word, she turned and walked away, the setting sun illuminating the harsh finality of her silhouette.
AND YET, EVEN IN SILENCE, SOMETHING HAD ALREADY BEGUN TO CHANGE.