The rain had left the city streets slick and gleaming under the evening lights. Cars hissed by, tires sending little sprays of water across the asphalt. Renji stood outside the bookstore for a long moment before going in, staring at the faint golden glow behind the windows.
Each time he came back, the hesitation lasted longer. It wasn't that he didn't want to see Mio—he did, maybe too much. But every visit left him with more questions than answers. She wasn't just a quirky bookstore clerk. She was something else. Something he couldn't quite name.
Still, his hand found the doorknob. The little bell chimed, and the familiar scent of paper wrapped around him like a blanket.
"Evening, panda."
Renji groaned. "Don't tell me that's my permanent nickname now."
Mio leaned against the counter, a sly grin on her face. "You don't get to choose your nickname. The universe does."
"That's… not how nicknames work."
"It is here."
Renji sighed, but the corner of his lips twitched upward. He walked toward the counter, resting his arms on it. For a moment, he just watched her arrange a small stack of returns. Her movements were fluid, practiced, like someone who had done this for years—and yet, every time he was here, the shop was empty.
"Hey, Mio," he said suddenly.
"Hm?"
"Do you ever get any other customers?"
Mio froze for half a second before replying casually, "Of course I do. Just not when you're around."
Renji raised an eyebrow. "…That sounds like a very convenient excuse."
"It's not an excuse, it's fate."
He laughed. "You really have an answer for everything, don't you?"
"Only because you keep asking everything."
Renji smiled faintly, but his mind didn't let go of the thought. No other customers. No sound of people outside. Whenever he came here, the world seemed to shrink down to just the two of them, as if the bookstore was a little bubble cut off from reality.
And then there were her words yesterday—You're not cursed. Sometimes people just aren't meant to stay.
He wanted to know what she meant.
"…Mio," he said quietly, "have you ever been in love?"
The question slipped out before he could stop it.
Mio's hands stilled over the stack of books. Slowly, she set one down, her eyes hidden beneath her bangs. For a long moment, the silence stretched between them, heavy but fragile.
When she finally looked up, her smile was still there—but it wasn't the same teasing grin as always. It was smaller. Sadder.
"Some of us," she said softly, "aren't meant to write our own love stories."
Renji felt something in his chest tighten. "…What's that supposed to mean?"
Mio tilted her head, her expression unreadable. "It means I don't get to keep what I want. My role is… different."
"Role?" Renji echoed, confused. "You make it sound like you're acting in a play."
"Maybe I am," she said with a shrug. "Maybe we all are. Some of us are leads. Some of us are side characters. And some of us…" She trailed off, her eyes drifting toward the shelves as though searching for something among the spines. "Some of us just make sure the story keeps moving, even if we're not part of the ending."
Renji stared at her, stunned into silence. He wanted to protest, to tell her she was wrong, but the words wouldn't come. She said it with such certainty, as if she had already accepted it long ago.
"…That's depressing," he muttered finally.
Mio's lips curved into a faint smile. "It's reality."
"No," Renji said firmly, surprising even himself. "Reality is what you make of it. If you want to be part of someone's story, you should be able to."
Mio looked at him for a long time, her eyes shimmering with something he couldn't place. Then, quietly, she laughed.
"You're too stubborn, Renji."
"And you're too fatalistic."
"Fatalistic, huh? Big word for a panda."
Renji groaned. "You're impossible."
But beneath their banter, his mind kept circling back to her words. Not meant to write my own love story.
What did that mean? Was she talking about her past? Or something else entirely?
---
Later that night, after leaving the shop, Renji walked aimlessly through the city streets. The air was damp, carrying the faint scent of rain-soaked asphalt. His reflection followed him in the puddles, pale under the neon glow of signs and passing headlights.
He thought of Ayaka, Haruna, the countless other girls who had walked away from him. Every time, he blamed himself. For not being enough. For not giving enough. For being too much.
But Mio's words echoed in his head, weaving into the spaces between his thoughts.
Some of us aren't meant to write our own love stories.
Renji clenched his fists.
"If that's true… then it's not fair."
And yet, part of him feared she really believed it.
---
Back in the bookstore, Mio sat alone at the counter, the silence pressing down on her like a weight. She ran her fingers absently through her hair. A single petal slipped free, drifting onto the counter before fading into nothing.
She stared at the spot where it vanished.
"…You're too stubborn, Renji."
Her smile was small, fragile, as she whispered the words into the empty shop.
"But maybe that's what I need."