The campus felt colder at night, the moon casting long shadows that stretched across the quiet courtyard. After the vice principal's questioning and Takashi's silent sacrifice, the air between him and Mizuki had grown painfully charged with things left unsaid. Yet both knew they couldn't keep their distance forever.
It was Mizuki who suggested they meet—an hour after clubs ended, when the last echoes of laughter faded and only the faint hum of vending machines remained. Takashi arrived early, heart pounding as he waited in a quiet corridor near the old music room. His palms were slick, breath unsteady; he half-feared she wouldn't come, and half-feared she would.
But when the door eased open, and Mizuki stepped inside, relief and dread tangled in his chest. She wore her usual cardigan draped over her shoulders, but tonight her expression was softer, sadder, as though she had already accepted something he couldn't yet see.
For a moment, neither spoke. The quiet around them felt thick, broken only by the faint ticking of the old clock on the wall.
"Sensei," Takashi began, voice low, "I thought you might not come."
"I shouldn't have," Mizuki admitted, closing the door gently behind her. "But there are some things I need to tell you."
Her voice trembled, and Takashi felt something cold settle deep inside him. "What is it?" he asked, though part of him already knew this wouldn't be something he wanted to hear.
She looked at him then, truly looked, her gaze lingering on the worry etched across his face. "Takashi… I'm planning to quit teaching," she said, each word slow and deliberate, as though saying it out loud made it real.
His breath caught, and for a heartbeat, silence roared in his ears. "Quit?" he echoed. "But why?"
She hesitated, turning her gaze away to the window where the moonlight spilled in. "It's better this way," she whispered. "For everyone."
"That's not a reason," Takashi said, stepping closer, his voice rising despite himself. "You can't just leave. You love teaching. You've always said so."
"I did," Mizuki replied, her lips curling into something between a smile and a grimace. "And maybe that's why it hurts so much to say this now."
Takashi swallowed, words tangling behind his teeth. "Is it because of the photo? The investigation?"
She nodded faintly. "Partly. But it's more than that."
"Then tell me," he urged, desperation creeping into his tone. "Tell me the real reason."
"I can't," she whispered, voice breaking. "Not fully. But believe me when I say this is what's best—for you, for me, for the entire class."
Takashi felt the words strike him like a physical blow. "So you're just going to disappear? Pretend none of this happened?"
Her eyes glistened under the pale light. "If staying means causing more pain… yes."
"But what about what I feel?" he demanded, his voice louder now. "Don't I matter in this decision?"
"You matter too much," Mizuki confessed, tears slipping down her cheek. "That's exactly why I have to do this."
Takashi shook his head, stepping closer until they stood barely a breath apart. "No. You can't. You're the reason I even look forward to coming here every day. You can't just leave me behind."
Mizuki closed her eyes, the pain in her expression raw and unguarded. "Takashi… you've already sacrificed so much to protect me. You shouldn't have to give up your future too."
"My future doesn't matter if you're not in it," he whispered fiercely.
She opened her eyes, and for a heartbeat, her hand lifted as if to touch his cheek—but fell back to her side. "You're still so young," she murmured. "You'll find another path. Someone closer to your age, someone you won't have to hide your feelings for."
"I don't want someone else," Takashi shot back. "I want you."
Her breath caught, her shoulders trembling. "Please don't say that," she whispered, though a part of her heart ached to hear it.
"It's the truth," Takashi insisted, his voice hoarse. "You know it too."
"I do," Mizuki admitted, barely audible. "But truth doesn't change what we must do."
Silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating. Outside, a breeze rattled the windowpane, the world carrying on as if nothing had changed.
"When?" Takashi finally asked, his voice small. "When are you leaving?"
"Soon," she said, unable to meet his gaze. "Before the end of the term."
"So this is goodbye," he whispered, the word burning on his tongue.
"Not yet," she said, her voice breaking. "We still have a little time left."
Takashi felt something inside him crumble. "And then what? You expect me to just forget?"
"I don't expect you to forget," Mizuki said softly. "I only hope you'll heal."
A bitter laugh escaped him. "I won't. Not from this."
She stepped closer then, close enough that he could see the tears she fought to hide. "Takashi… you've given me more than you know. Even if I leave, know that I'll carry those memories with me."
"And I'll carry you," he whispered.
Mizuki shook her head, tears falling freely now. "Don't," she begged. "If you do, it will only hurt more."
"I don't care," Takashi said, his voice trembling. "I'd rather hurt than forget you."
For a fleeting moment, the distance between them dissolved. Takashi's hand brushed against hers, the touch electric, painfully alive. But Mizuki pulled away, the motion slow and reluctant.
"I have to go," she whispered, voice cracking. "Before we both do something we can't take back."
He nodded, though it felt like tearing out a piece of himself. "Sensei…"
She paused at the door, her hand on the knob. "Yes?"
"I'm glad I met you," he said, voice thick with unshed tears.
She turned slightly, her eyes shining. "Me too, Takashi. More than you know."
And then she slipped out, leaving Takashi alone in the dimly lit room, the echo of her words lingering like a ghost.
Outside, the moon hung heavy in the sky, indifferent to the breaking hearts below. And in that quiet, Takashi
felt the weight of goodbye settle into his chest—a sorrow too deep for words, too true to deny.