Ren stared at the message.
"So… you're still pretending to be someone else?"
The chill in his chest had nothing to do with the early October wind that crept through the cracked dorm window.
His thumb hovered over the screen.
He didn't need to check the number. No name appeared, but ghosts never needed introductions.
Yuto.
The last time Ren had seen that name, it had been scribbled on the back of a middle school detention slip. The last time he heard that voice—it was mocking, sharp, tearing through him in front of a cafeteria crowd while he stood speechless.
That message brought it all back. The humiliation. The silence. The masks.
Ren dropped the phone on his bed and ran a hand through his hair. He'd rebuilt so much. With Airi, he wasn't hiding anymore—or at least, he thought he wasn't.
But ghosts had a way of clawing through locked doors.
The next day, Ren met Airi in the campus garden, but something in him was already retreating.
She noticed.
"Did something happen?" she asked gently, offering him a paper cup of steaming cocoa. "You didn't reply to my goodnight message yesterday."
Ren hesitated. "Just a headache. Long night."
Airi frowned but didn't press. Instead, she took a sip of her drink, the marshmallow sticking to her lip. He smiled and gently wiped it away with his thumb.
"You always do that," she mumbled.
"What?"
"Deflect with sweetness."
He froze.
Her gaze was soft but sharp, like a blade wrapped in silk. "You don't have to tell me. But I want you to know I see it."
Ren looked down at the cocoa. His fingers curled tightly around the cup.
"I got a message," he finally said. "From someone I thought I'd never hear from again."
"An ex?"
He laughed bitterly. "Worse. A version of myself I never want to go back to."
He didn't explain further. And Airi didn't force it. She just sat beside him in the quiet, waiting—not for answers, but for trust.
That night, Ren dreamt of lockers slamming shut and laughter echoing down empty halls. In the dream, he was fifteen again, shoved against a row of metal cabinets, holding back tears.
The voice in the dark whispered, "You're such a fake, Ren."
When he woke up, his hands were clenched.
He got up, grabbed his hoodie, and left the dorm.
The rooftop of the psychology building was technically off-limits after 9 p.m., but Ren had always been good at slipping through unnoticed.
The city lights blinked in the distance like distant stars, and the wind smelled like concrete and pine.
He wasn't alone.
Airi was already there, sitting on the edge, legs dangling.
"How did you…?"
"I figured you'd be here," she said, not looking at him. "This place feels like you."
He joined her, silent.
"I looked up the number," she said softly. "The one that messaged you."
He stiffened. "Why?"
"Because I care."
Ren bit his lip. "He was a bully. Back in middle school. Called me names. Pushed me around. I used to fake sick just to avoid going to class. But the worst part is…"
He trailed off.
Airi waited.
"…I believed him. Every word. That I was fake. Weak. Trying too hard to be someone I wasn't. I carried it into high school. Into everything. Even into how I loved."
She reached for his hand. "But you don't carry it alone anymore."
He looked at her. Really looked at her.
The wind tugged at her hair, and her eyes were unwavering.
"I'm not who I used to be," he whispered.
"I know," she replied. "But if he's trying to pull you back… we face him. Together."
Ren felt something shift.
Not fear.
Not shame.
But courage, fragile and growing.
Two days later, the next message came.
Yuto: "We should talk. There are things you don't know."
Ren stared at it. This time, he didn't feel cold.
This time, he wasn't alone.
Later that evening, Ren and Airi walked the quiet path behind the literature building. The autumn leaves crunched beneath their feet, and the sun dipped low, casting gold across the cobblestones.
"What if he's right?" Ren said suddenly.
Airi glanced sideways. "About what?"
"That I've been pretending."
She stopped walking. "Ren, listen to me."
He did.
"You don't pretend. You try. You try to be good. You try to be kind. You try to love, even when it scares you. That's not fake. That's brave."
The words hit harder than any insult ever had.
He stepped closer, searching her eyes. "Even if I mess up?"
"We're all messes," she said, voice trembling now. "But I'd rather be messy with you than perfect with anyone else."
He kissed her.
Not the first kiss. Not the last.
But the one that said, I believe you. I believe us.