Chapter 11:

 

                                                                     The Things I Couldn’t Say

The classroom was almost empty after school, bathed in the soft golden hue of the setting sun. Dust particles floated gently in the air, illuminated like fireflies in the silence.

Renji sat alone by the window—his usual seat—his fingers lightly tapping against the edge of his desk. The rhythm was restless. Everything about him was. His gaze lingered outside where clouds had begun to gather again, heavy with the promise of another rain.

He hadn’t seen Yui since that night at the train station.

She hadn’t shown up for class. Not today. Not yesterday.

His chest tightened with a kind of silence that couldn’t be filled with words. There had been something in her eyes that night—something fragile, like she was on the verge of leaving again.

He reached into his bag and pulled out a folded letter. The handwriting was unmistakably hers.

---

Renji,

I’m sorry I didn’t stay that night.

There were a thousand things I wanted to say. A thousand memories I wanted to relive. But I was scared. Scared that if I stayed too long, you’d see how much I hadn’t healed. That you’d try to fix me when maybe I was meant to break a little.

I do remember everything.

And you were always there.

Even when I wasn’t.

Even when I couldn’t be.

Thank you for keeping the umbrella.

Thank you for remembering.

I don’t know what happens next.

But I hope, someday, we meet again—not as the boy and girl from the rain, but as the people we’ve become.

—Yui

---

Renji stared at the letter for a long time.

He didn’t cry.

But the ache in his chest pulsed like something alive.

He stood up, walking slowly toward the empty seat beside his. He placed the letter gently there, like leaving behind something sacred.

Then he looked outside once more.

The first drop of rain touched the glass.

And quietly, he smiled.

Because he still believed—

The rain would fall again.

And maybe… so would she.

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