The school day moved on without her.
Sayuri's desk remained untouched—her chair, still neatly tucked in as if she'd simply stepped out for a moment and forgotten to return. But by third period, whispers had already begun to spread.
"She skipped?"
"I thought the twins were always together."
"Maybe they fought…"
Ren didn't respond.
He stared out the window during lunch, eyes following the lazy sway of the crimson maple leaves outside. The sky was an overcast white, soft and colorless—like a blank canvas right before the first brushstroke.
---
She wasn't at home.
Not in her room. Not in the kitchen. Not even in the guestroom, which Ren now approached with a quiet caution, the mirror behind it sealed once more beneath its dust-dulled cloth.
But he had a feeling.
He grabbed his jacket and left through the side gate, the one that led past the stone wall and toward the small hill overlooking the Amakusa property.
The wind tugged lightly at his collar, gentle but insistent.
And then he saw her.
Sayuri sat alone beneath the ancient maple tree, the one with gnarled roots that curled like old fingers across the ground. Leaves fluttered down in a slow, golden rain, catching in her hair and across her lap.
She wore her uniform skirt, but her cardigan hung loose from her shoulders. Her shoes were off, bare feet pressed to the cold earth.
Ren approached slowly, unsure whether to call her name or stay silent.
She answered for him.
"You always knew where to find me."
Her voice was calm. Hollow.
He sat beside her, watching the breeze move through the high branches above. "I got worried. You weren't at school."
She tilted her head back, eyes half-lidded against the dim sky.
"Do you remember," she began slowly, "when we were small, and we buried that baby bird we found? The one that fell out of its nest."
Ren blinked. "By the old fence, yeah."
"You cried," she said. "I didn't. But I remember holding your hand while you did. I thought if I held it tightly enough, the sadness wouldn't get in."
She paused. "But it did. Just slower."
Ren swallowed.
Sayuri continued, her voice barely louder than the wind: "Sometimes I wonder if people are born with empty places inside them. And we spend our whole lives trying to fill them—with memories, or people, or love."
She turned to him then, and her eyes were darker than he remembered. Not from tears—but something deeper.
Something older.
"And when someone leaves," she whispered, "the empty place just... grows."
Ren looked at her. "Sayuri—"
She smiled, a fragile thing. "If you leave me too, I don't know what I'll become."
The words weren't a threat. Nor a plea.
They were a truth.
A possibility she had already seen.
A silence stretched between them.
Then she stood, brushing leaves from her skirt. "Let's go home. You'll catch a cold."
And just like that, she walked back down the hill, barefoot and quiet, like a dream he couldn't hold onto.
---
Back at school, Ren was pulled back into the current of his class life. The homeroom buzzed with talk of the cultural festival. Posters were being designed. Clubs were recruiting helpers. The energy was warm and chaotic.
And in the middle of it all stood Kanna Yukishiro, clipboard in hand, commanding like a general.
She caught Ren's eye the moment he entered.
"Amakusa," she called. "We're short on runners for the event committee. You're in."
He blinked. "I never said yes."
"You didn't say no." She smiled. "And besides, I heard you're good at keeping people in line. We need that."
Ren sighed, scratching the back of his head. "I'm already in a club."
"So am I," she replied. "Welcome to multitasking."
He was about to protest again when Haruka leaned over from the window seat. "You should do it, Senpai! There's going to be a haunted house! And maybe some ghost costumes~"
Ren gave her a flat look. "That's not helping."
Haruka just grinned.
Kanna flipped her clipboard shut. "We'll meet after school in Room 2-C. Don't be late."
And with that, she turned on her heel and strode off like a queen crossing a battlefield.
Ren sighed.
Life had once been simple.
Now it was school festivals, jealous girls, emotionally fraught siblings, and a mirror he couldn't stop dreaming about.
---
After school, the committee meeting was a blur of ideas and responsibilities. Ren found himself tasked with organizing floor layouts and coordinating between clubs. Kanna, ever the perfectionist, handed out schedules like commandments carved in stone.
When he finally stepped outside, the sun was already dipping behind the mountains, painting the clouds in streaks of rose and gold.
His phone buzzed.
> [Sayuri: I'll wait for you at the back gate.]
Ren frowned, heart skipping slightly.
He walked the long corridor alone. The sunset cast long shadows between the lockers, and the sound of his footsteps echoed a little too loudly.
At the gate, Sayuri stood in the same cardigan, her hair pinned back this time. A thermos was cradled in her hands.
"You looked tired," she said. "So I brought you tea."
Ren took it, warmth soaking through his fingers. "Thanks."
They walked together in silence. But this time, it wasn't peaceful.
It was heavy.
Almost… possessive.
Sayuri's shoulder brushed against his every few steps, though there was enough space on the road to walk apart. She didn't say anything, but her presence was closer than usual. Deliberate.
When they reached the gate to their house, she paused.
"You're helping with the festival now?"
Ren nodded. "Kind of got drafted."
Sayuri looked at him for a long moment.
"You're spending a lot of time with them," she said. "With the others."
Ren's brow furrowed. "They're classmates. I can't avoid them."
"I'm not asking you to."
But something lingered in her tone. Like the echo of a question she wasn't brave enough to ask aloud.
---
That night, the house was quiet.
Too quiet.
Ren lay in bed, the thermos now empty on his desk.
He thought of Sayuri's words. The weight behind them.
If you leave me too… I don't know what I'll become.
He closed his eyes.
But all he saw was the reflection in the mirror.
His hand.
Holding someone else's.
---
In her room, Sayuri stared at her ceiling, arms tucked under her pillow.
The wind outside carried the scent of maple leaves and fading sunlight.
She thought of the girls.
Aoi. Kanna. Haruka. Nao.
She thought of how they looked at him.
Like he was something bright and warm. Like he belonged to the world.
But he didn't.
He never had.
---
And so, beneath the bleeding leaves of autumn and the long shadow of the house that remembered everything, the quiet war of emotions grew louder.
Not with shouting.
But with glances.
With silences.
And with the slow, terrible bloom of jealousy—deep red, like the maple leaves falling all around them.
---