There's a strange thing about pain.
No matter how long it's been, no matter how far you think you've run—it waits for you. Quiet. Patient. Like a shadow that never left.
Even when you turn away, it follows.
Even when you tell yourself you've healed, it speaks in the voice of someone you thought you forgot.
The next morning was like any other.
I walked to school. Alone. Earphones in, volume low. I wasn't listening to the music. I just needed something between me and the world.
The sky was dull and gray. The kind of morning that makes you feel like you shouldn't expect much from the day. I preferred it that way.
Less light. Less people. Less noise.
When I entered the classroom, she was already there.
Saiki Ai.
She sat in her seat quietly, flipping through a notebook. Nothing unusual about her posture, nothing dramatic. Just… still.
And for some reason, that stillness was louder than anything else in the room.
I walked past her without a word.
She didn't say anything either.
That should've been the end of it.
But later that day, she was waiting by the school gate.
Again.
Just like always.
Still not talking. Still not asking.
Just… present.
I didn't stop. Didn't even glance at her. But I could feel her eyes on my back. And somehow, that was worse than if she'd said something.
Because silence doesn't demand anything from you. It just stays.
And it makes you wonder—why?
I don't remember when I stopped being angry.
Maybe it was never anger. Maybe it was just fear, dressed up like something louder.
After everything that happened… being alone was the only thing that made sense.
People lie. People leave. People ruin you and move on like nothing happened.
And I was tired. Tired of believing anything else.
But Saiki Ai…
She didn't fit into that logic. Not completely.
She had every opportunity to walk away, and she didn't. She had every reason to defend herself, and she didn't.
She just stayed.
And I didn't know how to handle that.
That night, I couldn't sleep.
Again.
I stared at the ceiling, the faint hum of streetlights outside seeping through the curtain.
I thought about what Sakamoto said. About history repeating itself.
He said it like a joke. Like a warning I was too blind to see.
But he didn't understand. He never could.
Because this wasn't about repeating anything.
It was about standing at the same crossroad and not knowing whether to turn back or keep walking.
And that's the worst part—when even time feels like it's waiting for your decision.
The next day, I found her on the rooftop.
I don't know why I went there. Maybe I expected it. Maybe I hoped she wouldn't be there.
But she was.
Standing alone, the breeze brushing strands of her hair across her face. Her blazer fluttered slightly in the wind. She looked fragile—but steady.
She turned to face me when I stepped out.
"…Kazama-kun."
I didn't respond. Didn't move.
We stood in silence, with the sky stretched wide above us and too many words stuffed between us.
Finally, I broke it.
"You're persistent."
She gave a small, tired smile. "I guess I am."
I looked away.
"I still don't trust you."
"I know."
"I don't think I ever will."
"I know that too."
"…Then why?"
"Because it matters."
I blinked.
She continued, her voice soft but unwavering. "Even if you never forgive me. Even if you hate me forever. I want you to know that it matters. That what I did… what I didn't do… I remember all of it."
The wind picked up again.
She didn't cry.
She didn't ask for anything.
She just said what she needed to say.
I leaned against the railing, eyes on the horizon.
"I don't know what you're expecting from me."
"I'm not expecting anything."
That answer, for some reason, hurt more than I thought it would.
I didn't reply.
Neither did she.
And still… we stood there.
Side by side.
Some things don't change.
And some things do.
But what I've come to realize is this—
The hardest part isn't deciding which is which.
It's figuring out who you are when they collide.