The rain had passed by morning, leaving the city washed clean. Puddles caught fragments of blue sky between scattered clouds, and sunlight spilled over rooftops like a hesitant apology.
Renji walked along the street, hands in his pockets, the sound of water dripping from eaves following him. His hair was still damp from skipping the umbrella again. He had slept poorly—though not for the usual reasons.
Usually, after a breakup, the nights were the worst. His mind replayed words that had already been said, moments that couldn't be undone. He'd scroll through old messages until his chest tightened, or stare at the empty space in his bed like it was mocking him.
But last night had been different.
Instead of reliving the café, instead of imagining what he could have said to make her stay, his mind kept circling back to something else—
The sound of Mio's laugh.
The curve of her smile when she'd said he wouldn't stop coming.
The way her eyes had softened for just an instant, when he talked about the umbrella.
"…Pathetic," Renji muttered under his breath. "I just met her."
And yet, the thought of her had chased away the silence that usually crushed him after a breakup. It was dangerous. He knew it. But he couldn't stop.
---
The little bell chimed as Renji pushed open the bookstore door. The familiar smell of old paper and polished wood greeted him like a friend.
Mio was perched on a stool behind the counter, nose buried in a thick hardcover. She looked up immediately, her lips curving into a playful smile.
"Well, well. Look who's becoming a regular."
Renji rolled his eyes. "What, keeping a tally?"
"Of course," Mio said. "You're my favorite customer."
"I bet I'm your only customer."
"Details," she shot back without missing a beat.
He chuckled, shaking his head, and stepped up to the counter. For a moment, neither of them spoke. The silence wasn't heavy—just easy, like an old blanket. But Mio tilted her head, studying him with those sharp eyes that always seemed to see more than he wanted.
"You didn't sleep much last night, did you?"
Renji blinked. "H-How'd you—"
"Dark circles." She tapped under her own eyes. "Classic giveaway. Don't worry, it's still kind of cute. Like a tired panda."
Renji groaned. "Great. Just what I needed, to be compared to a zoo animal."
Mio laughed, soft and bright, and for a second she forgot how to breathe.
---
They settled into their usual rhythm. Renji browsed while Mio offered teasing commentary that was half-mocking, half-insightful. Eventually, he found himself leaning against the counter, staring at the shelves without really seeing them.
"…Hey, Mio."
"Hm?" She looked up from stamping a return slip.
"Do you ever… think about the past? Like, the people you used to care about?"
Mio's hands stilled for a second before resuming their work. "All the time. Why?"
Renji exhaled slowly. "I guess… I've been thinking about mine a lot lately. Past girlfriends, I mean. Every breakup feels different, but when I look back, the endings blur together. Sometimes I can't even remember how it felt to be in love with them. Just… the emptiness after."
Mio didn't interrupt. She just listened, her gaze steady, as if inviting him to keep going.
Renji laughed bitterly. "There was Ayaka. We were together for two years. She wanted marriage. I wasn't ready. One night she just said, 'If you can't see a future with me, then what are we even doing?' And I… didn't have an answer. So she left."
He rubbed the back of his neck, the memory stinging even after all this time.
"Then there was Haruna. She was amazing—funny, smart, the kind of person who could light up a room. We did long-distance for a while. At first it was fine, but calls got shorter, texts slower. One day, she just said, 'I think we've both moved on, haven't we?' And… she wasn't wrong."
Renji let out a humorless chuckle. "And then there are the ones who don't even give you a reason. Just… gone. Like you never mattered at all."
His voice cracked slightly at that last part. He hadn't meant to let it slip, but there it was—the truth he never said out loud.
For a long moment, only the ticking of the wall clock filled the space between them. Then Mio set her stamp down and leaned forward, resting her chin in her hand.
"You're not cursed, you know."
Renji blinked. "Huh?"
"That look on your face," Mio said softly. "Like you think something's wrong with you. Like no matter what you do, you'll always be left behind. It's not true. Sometimes… people just aren't meant to stay. That doesn't mean you're broken."
Her words sank into him like rain into dry soil. He wanted to argue, to say she didn't understand, but something in her eyes stopped him.
"…You talk like you've been through it yourself," Renji said quietly.
Mio smiled faintly, a little sad this time. "Maybe I have."
Renji studied her, wanting to ask more, but she looked away before he could.
The silence that followed wasn't awkward. It was heavy, yes, but not unbearable. Almost like standing at the edge of a secret neither of them was ready to voice.
Finally, Mio clapped her hands lightly, breaking the moment. "Alright! Enough gloomy talk. You're depressing the books."
Renji snorted. "Books don't get depressed."
"Of course they do," Mio said with mock seriousness. "They soak up the feelings of the people who read them. You should be more considerate."
Renji laughed—really laughed this time, the sound echoing warmly in the little shop. "You're impossible."
"And yet," Mio teased, "you keep coming back."
He opened his mouth to reply, but nothing came out. She was right. He did keep coming back. And each time, it was a little harder to imagine not doing so.
---
That night, as Renji walked home under the dim glow of street lamps, his chest felt strange. Lighter, somehow, even with the ghosts of his past still clinging to him.
For the first time in years, he wondered if maybe—just maybe—someone might stay.