Ren's pulse spiked as the figure stepped into the golden haze of the setting sun.
It was Kaito.
The same Kaito who had disappeared without a word last year, leaving unanswered messages and a hole in the small circle Ren and Airi shared. The same Kaito who, once upon a time, had been close to both of them—maybe too close to Airi.
"Kaito?" Ren's voice was sharper than he intended.
Airi stiffened beside him. "I… didn't know you were back."
Kaito smiled faintly, but there was a weariness in his eyes. "I wasn't sure I'd come back at all." His gaze shifted between them, as if measuring the space, the air, the invisible strings that connected—and separated—them.
Ren felt the bridge beneath them sway slightly in the breeze. His grip on the railing tightened. He remembered the late-night coffee runs, the laughter in campus hallways, the way Airi used to light up when Kaito entered the room.
And he remembered the arguments afterward. The unspoken questions.
Airi broke the silence first. "Why now?"
Kaito's expression softened. "Because I left things… wrong. And because I heard—" He glanced at Ren briefly. "—you've both been through a lot lately."
Ren's jaw clenched. "Who told you that?"
"Does it matter?" Kaito said.
The tension was thick enough to taste. Ren felt every instinct telling him to guard himself, to protect whatever fragile progress he and Airi had made.
Airi looked between them, clearly weighing something in her mind. "Ren, could you… give us a minute?"
The words stung.
Ren wanted to argue, but the look in her eyes wasn't one of dismissal—it was one of pleading. Something in her gaze told him she needed to face this ghost from her past without him standing over her shoulder.
"Alright," Ren said slowly. "I'll wait by the steps."
From his spot at the edge of the bridge, Ren watched them talk. Their voices were too low for him to hear, but he saw the way Airi's hands moved when she spoke—small, precise gestures, the ones she used when she was treading carefully.
Kaito leaned in slightly, saying something that made Airi's eyes widen. She shook her head, but he didn't back away.
Ren's heartbeat was uneven. The envelope he'd given her earlier was still tucked in her hand. She hadn't opened it yet.
The sky deepened into orange, then red. Finally, Airi turned and started walking toward Ren, her expression unreadable. Kaito stayed where he was, leaning against the railing, watching the water below.
When she reached him, she simply said, "We should talk. Somewhere else."
Ren glanced back at Kaito, who raised a hand in a half-wave—whether friendly or mocking, Ren couldn't tell.
They ended up at the same small café they'd gone to after their first group study session months ago. The familiarity was both comforting and suffocating.
Airi wrapped her hands around her cup of tea. "He wants to fix things," she said at last. "But I'm not sure what that even means anymore."
Ren searched her face. "And what do you want?"
Her gaze flicked away, toward the rain-slick streets outside. "I want to know if the person standing in front of me now is the same as the one I used to know. And I want to know if the person sitting across from me"—she met his eyes—"is ready to let me figure that out."
It wasn't an accusation, but it wasn't exactly a reassurance either.
Ren exhaled slowly. "I'll give you the space to find your answer. But Airi… I need you to know that I'm not going to disappear just because someone from your past shows up."
Her lips curved into something small but real. "I know."
They sat in silence for a while, sipping their drinks, listening to the quiet hum of the café. Outside, the streetlights flickered on.
Ren thought the night might end peacefully.
But as they stepped out into the cool air, a voice called from across the street.
Kaito again—this time holding something in his hand.
And it was Ren's envelope.