Chapter 7

                                                                     Unspoken, Yet Understood

The sky outside had turned a deeper shade of blue—neither day nor night, just the quiet moment in between, when time seems to breathe.

Yui sat alone on the wooden bench beside the old sakura tree in the back courtyard. Most students had already gone home. The soft rustle of leaves filled the silence, and the occasional chirp of birds made the air feel alive. She was waiting, though she hadn’t told herself that.

Renji appeared around the corner, slowing when he saw her. He didn’t say anything at first. Just walked over and sat beside her, placing his bag on the ground.

She didn’t look at him, but she didn’t need to. His presence was beginning to feel familiar again.

“I thought you left,” she murmured.

“I did,” he replied. “Then I came back.”

Yui gave a small, almost imperceptible smile. “You always do that?”

“Only when someone forgets their umbrella.”

She turned. And there it was—that glimmer in her eyes, a flicker of memory. The way she used to look at him all those years ago.

Renji reached into his bag and slowly pulled out something wrapped in cloth.

Her breath caught.

It was old, slightly torn, but unmistakable—her umbrella. The same one from that rainy day. The name "Ame Yui" still faintly visible in blue ink inside.

“You kept it?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Renji nodded. “Didn’t know why I couldn’t let go of it. Now I do.”

Yui stared at the umbrella, eyes glossy, heart aching from something she hadn’t allowed herself to feel in years.

“I thought you’d forgotten,” she said quietly.

“I never did,” he said. “You changed your name. But I still saw you.”

For a long time, neither of them spoke. The wind picked up again, brushing strands of Yui’s hair across her face. Renji gently tucked them behind her ear without thinking.

She blinked—then closed her eyes for a second, as if to hold the moment in place.

“I wanted to ask you something,” she said.

“What?”

Yui opened her eyes, but looked at the ground. “Back then… why didn’t you come find me?”

He hesitated.

“I was afraid,” he admitted. “That maybe it was just a passing moment for you. But it never was for me.”

She looked up at him then, fully—truly. There was no hiding now.

“I was waiting,” she whispered. “All this time.”

The wind stopped.

The silence didn’t feel heavy anymore.

This time, it felt like peace.

He reached for her hand, slowly. She didn’t pull away.

Fingers touched.

Not everything needed to be said.

Some answers lived in the spaces between words.

And some hearts found their way back without a map.

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