The days after the dinner at Ren's family home blurred together for Hana. She went through her classes, attended study groups, even smiled politely at acquaintances who asked how she was—but beneath the surface, she felt unmoored. Every interaction carried the shadow of that night: the cold politeness of Ren's mother, the disappointment in his father's eyes, the way the silence at the table had pressed like a weight on her chest.
When Hana returned home each evening, she found herself sitting at her desk, staring at the unfinished sketches that littered her notebook. Flowers without petals, rivers without reflections, skies left blank. Her pencil hovered but never moved. The creativity that once flowed so easily now felt blocked, as though doubt had seeped into every line she tried to draw.
Her phone buzzed occasionally with Ren's messages—little check-ins, quiet reassurances—but she often found herself staring at the screen without replying immediately. Not because she didn't want to, but because she didn't know how to put her tangled emotions into words. She loved him, but love was beginning to feel like a weight she wasn't sure how to carry.
---
On a Thursday afternoon, Hana's best friend, Yui, caught her lingering in the campus courtyard, sketchbook unopened in her lap.
"You've been distant," Yui said bluntly, plopping down beside her on the bench. Yui's energy was always direct, her presence sharp and grounding. "Don't think I haven't noticed."
Hana forced a small smile. "I've just been… busy."
"Busy being lost in your head?" Yui countered, raising an eyebrow. "Come on, Hana. I've known you too long. Something's wrong."
Hana hesitated, chewing on her lip. She hadn't told Yui much about Ren yet—not because she didn't trust her, but because she wasn't sure how to explain something that still felt fragile, private.
But Yui wasn't the type to let silence linger. She leaned closer, lowering her voice. "Is this about that guy you've been spending time with? The one who makes you smile like you've discovered a new shade of sky?"
Hana's cheeks warmed. "Ren."
"Ren," Yui repeated, testing the name like it was a secret code. "What about him?"
Hana's hands tightened around her sketchbook. She wanted to spill everything—the warmth of his words, the storm at his family's house, the way she felt both cherished and fragile in his presence. But the words came out fractured. "It's… complicated. His family doesn't approve of me. Of us."
Yui let out a low whistle. "Classic."
"It's not just that," Hana added, her voice trembling. "They don't approve of the way he's living his life either. Photography, traveling, not following their path. And because I'm with him, they see me as part of the problem."
Yui's expression softened, though her tone remained firm. "And do you see yourself as part of the problem?"
The question struck Hana. She lowered her gaze, whispering, "Sometimes."
Yui reached over, tugging the sketchbook from her lap. She flipped it open, scanning the half-finished drawings. "You stopped drawing," she said, not as an accusation, but as an observation.
Hana's throat tightened. "I… can't seem to find the lines anymore."
"Because you're carrying doubt that isn't yours," Yui said sharply, snapping the book closed. "Listen, Hana. His parents' expectations, their disappointment—that belongs to them, not you. Don't turn it into your burden. And don't you dare let it steal your art."
Hana blinked, her chest tightening with emotion. Yui's words were raw, unfiltered, but they cut straight to the truth she hadn't wanted to face.
"I don't know how to stop feeling like I'm not enough," Hana whispered.
"Then stop measuring yourself by someone else's yardstick," Yui replied, her voice fierce with loyalty. "You're Hana. The girl who used to stay up all night sketching because the sunrise deserved to be caught on paper. The one who sees beauty in cracks on the pavement and the tilt of a stranger's smile. Don't let anyone—his family, your own doubts, even Ren—take that away from you."
Tears pricked Hana's eyes, but for the first time in days, she felt something loosen in her chest. Yui's words didn't erase her fears, but they reminded her of a truth she had almost forgotten: she wasn't just someone caught in Ren's orbit. She was her own person, with her own vision, her own voice.
---
That evening, Hana sat at her desk once more. The window was open, letting in the cool night air and the faint hum of the city. She pulled her sketchbook close, hesitated for a moment, then pressed her pencil to the page.
The lines came slowly at first, hesitant, but then they began to flow. She drew the park bench where she and Ren had sat, their hands entwined. She drew the river reflecting fragments of moonlight. She drew herself—eyes uncertain but still steady—beside him.
For the first time in days, the page wasn't blank. And for the first time, she felt like she could breathe.
---
Meanwhile, Ren sat alone in his apartment, scrolling through his photos from the past week. He lingered on the images of Hana—her profile against the river, her hand resting on her sketchbook, the soft furrow of her brow when she was lost in thought.
He had defended her fiercely to his parents, but a gnawing fear tugged at him: that the storm between his family and himself was bleeding into her life, pulling her down with him.
He sent her a message.
> **Ren:** "I know things feel heavy right now. But you're not carrying it alone. I'll shoulder as much as I can."
When Hana replied minutes later, her words surprised him.
> **Hana:** "I don't want you to shoulder it all. I want to carry it with you. That's the only way it will mean something."
Ren stared at the message for a long moment, a faint smile tugging at his lips. She was stronger than she realized.
---
At midnight, Hana stepped onto her small balcony, her sketchbook clutched to her chest. She looked up at the sky, the stars faint against the glow of the city lights. For the first time since the dinner, she whispered her thoughts into the night, words meant for herself more than anyone else.
"I'm not just afraid of losing them," she admitted softly. "I'm afraid of losing myself."
The wind stirred her hair, cool against her skin, carrying her confession into the dark.
But beneath her fear, a fragile resolve was beginning to grow. She wasn't just Ren's support, or his refuge from his family's expectations. She was Hana—an artist, a dreamer, a girl who saw beauty even in broken places.
And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.