The school day passed beneath a layer of restless clouds, casting a sleepy, silvery gloom over the courtyard. Wind stirred the tree branches just enough to make the sakura leaves twitch, as if something invisible were whispering through them.
Ren had barely spoken during class. The weight of his dreams, the cracked mirror, Sayuri's strange silence… it all pressed behind his eyes like a migraine he couldn't blink away.
So when Nao Inoue asked to talk after school, he didn't have the strength to refuse.
They stood beneath the old shrine tree behind the school gym—a crooked sakura that bloomed late and shed early. The petals were already scattered at its roots like forgotten confessions.
Nao clutched the strap of her bag tightly, knuckles pale. Her pigtails bobbed slightly as she rocked on her heels, eyes flicking to the side.
"I've been meaning to say it for a while," she began, voice soft but insistent. "But I didn't want to make things weird between us."
Ren looked at her, puzzled. "Say what?"
She laughed, but it came out nervous, thin. "Do you remember the shrine festival? The summer before middle school?"
He blinked. "Vaguely. You, me, Sayuri... we all went."
"Not that part." She took a small step forward. Her gaze locked onto his. "I mean after. When you walked me home through the field."
Images flickered in his mind like half-lit film—fireflies, rice paddies glowing with heat, the sound of taiko drums still echoing faintly from the hills.
"You kissed me," she said. "Under this tree."
The wind seemed to pause.
Ren opened his mouth. Closed it. "I…"
"You don't remember?"
"I remember the walk," he said slowly. "But… I didn't think…"
"It was small," she whispered, voice trembling now. "Just a peck. But it meant everything to me."
He stared at her, words caught somewhere between surprise and guilt.
"I waited for you to say something after," Nao continued. "But you never did. You started avoiding me. I thought maybe I imagined it—but I didn't, right?"
Ren lowered his gaze. "No. You didn't."
A silence settled between them, warm and painful.
Nao took another step, close enough now that he could smell the faint vanilla of her shampoo.
"Do you… feel anything now?"
Behind them, just past the edge of the shrine path, two pairs of eyes watched from different angles.
Kanna, arms folded tightly, stood behind the gym wall, her expression sharp, lips pressed into a line.
Aoi, still in her uniform, leaned beside the entrance gate, face unreadable.
Neither moved.
But both saw.
---
That evening, the wind died down, and the house fell into a hush that felt deeper than usual.
Ren stepped inside, and the scent of curry rice welcomed him—but the warmth didn't reach the table.
Sayuri was already seated, hands folded in her lap. The meal was neatly arranged: pickled radish, green tea, perfectly sliced apples on the side.
But she didn't speak.
Not a greeting. Not a glance.
Ren sat opposite her.
"Thanks," he said softly. "Looks good."
Sayuri nodded.
They ate in silence, the only sound the soft clinking of chopsticks against ceramic.
It wasn't like her.
Usually, even if she was upset, she tried to smile—tried to bridge the gaps with small jokes or questions about his day.
Tonight, she was all porcelain edges and glassy silence.
He couldn't take it anymore.
"Sayuri," he said, setting down his bowl. "Did I do something?"
She looked up at him.
And smiled.
It was so gentle it hurt.
"No," she said. "You didn't do anything at all."
But her voice was hollow, like a bell with no clapper.
He stared at her, wanting to reach across the table. Wanting to say then tell me why I feel like I'm losing you.
But she stood before he could speak again.
"I'll clean up," she said. "You should go get ready for bed."
---
Later, as the wind began to whisper against the windows again, Ren lay beneath the covers, half-asleep, thoughts frayed at the edges.
Then—
The sound of footsteps.
Soft.
Familiar.
The sliding door opened without a creak.
He didn't open his eyes, but he felt the warmth of her as she knelt beside him. Then—
Arms.
Thin, trembling arms wrapping tightly around him from behind, her body pressed gently to his back.
Her breath was warm against his neck.
He opened his mouth to ask—
But her voice beat him to it.
"You're smiling more lately," she whispered. Her tone was feather-soft.
"But it's not because of me… is it?"
His heart stopped.
Sayuri's arms tightened, just slightly.
"It's because of them. The girls who look at you like they own a piece of you. Aoi. Kanna. That Inoue girl."
Ren opened his eyes, but the room was dark. He didn't turn. He couldn't.
"I don't own anything," Sayuri murmured, voice now a trembling thread. "But I thought… maybe you'd always look at me the same way. The way you used to. Like I was your whole world."
He finally found his voice. "Sayuri—"
"You're slipping away," she said, more to herself than to him. "Like a dream I can't wake from."
The silence that followed was suffocating.
She didn't cry.
She just held him there, like if she let go, something terrible would happen.
And Ren—
He didn't pull away.
Not because he couldn't.
But because part of him remembered the little girl at the festival, holding his hand too tightly.
The girl who had no one but him.
And who, maybe, still didn't.
---
Outside, the wind carried the sound of distant bells.
In the hall, the mirror behind the guestroom door remained untouched.
But if someone had dared pull back the cloth, they might have seen something strange.
A reflection that did not quite match the present.
A boy.
A girl.
And a shadow between them—smiling.
---