Chapter 7: Echoes of a Familiar Name

‘A quiet afternoon unravels a truth. The past has a way of speaking—softly, through familiar echoes.’

He took the seat beside the professor as the server approached to take his order.

Everything moved with an easy rhythm—the familiar clatter of plates, the sound of tea being poured, soft laughter woven between their words.

The person sitting in front of me—how do I describe him…

He carried a composed air about him, the kind that made the space around him fall quietly into order.

Even his smile—faint, polite, never hurried—felt intentional.

Something about him spoke of restraint and patience, the kind that came from discipline rather than distance.

The introduction was brief, only an exchange of names and courtesies.

Still, something in his voice lingered faintly in my thoughts.

Then, the professor cleared his throat and glanced toward him.

“Atsu-kun, do you mind speaking in English?”

The man turned slightly, his gaze brushing past me for the briefest moment before answering.

“Yes… I’m good,” he said.

His English was smooth—practiced—natural.

And that tone, that rhythm…

It struck something distant inside me.

Again, I was reminded—of him.

I looked away, quietly shaking off the thought before it could grow.

The conversation returned to its calm flow between the two men.

The professor smiled.

“Atsu-kun also attended the conference. Did you two not meet each other?”

“I think… not yet.” Atsu replied, certain yet gentle in tone.

I nodded lightly, confirming it.

No—I had never met him before.

At least, not that I could remember.

The professor leaned back slightly, a knowing smile tugging at his lips.

“Hmmm… I thought you two must’ve met before. Aren’t you close with Miya-kun?”

「どちらですか？」

(“Who are you talking about?”)

The words slipped out of Atsu’s mouth before he seemed to notice—fluent, natural, reflexive.

His posture shifted, expression straightening. There was a focus in his eyes now—quiet, sharp.

“Miya’s son,” the professor clarified. 

“Hinezaki.”

Atsu lifted his face at that. 

A flicker—recognition, maybe—passed through his eyes.

Then he turned toward me.

That gaze—steady, unwavering—sent a strange chill down my spine.

I couldn’t look away.

For a heartbeat, the sound of the restaurant faded—the chatter, the clinking of cutlery, even the hum of conversation around us.

It was as if something unseen hung between us—an unspoken memory I couldn’t name.

After a long moment, he spoke again, softly—

「きれんが…」

(“It’s Kiren, huh..”)

Then, in English, with measured calm.

“Yes. I know him.”

His eyes didn’t leave mine when he added.

“And I think… I know her too now.”

My breath caught.

My eyes widened slightly, uncertain—disbelief flickering behind them as I tried to piece his words together.

The professor, oblivious to the subtle shift in the air, brightened.

「そうそう、」

(“Yes, that's right”) he chuckled, satisfied.

「じゃあ、三人で仲良くしようよ。」

(“Then, why don’t you three get along?”)

Atsu’s lips curved faintly—polite, unreadable.

「うん、仲良くできるよ。」

(“Yeah… we’ll get along.”)

For a moment, no one said anything.

Only the faint sound of clinking dishes and the quiet murmur of the restaurant filled the space between us.

The professor smiled, content with how naturally things seemed to fall into place—but to me, it didn’t feel natural at all.

Something in Atsu’s tone, in that calm stare of his, lingered like a thread pulled loose from memory.

I tried to steady my breath, forcing a small, polite smile—the kind you wear when you don’t quite understand what’s happening.

But beneath the surface, my heart had already begun to stir.

His eyes lowered to his cup, a soft sigh escaping him as he murmured something I couldn’t quite catch.

Maybe it was my imagination—or maybe, somewhere deep down, he too was remembering something he couldn’t explain.

The conversation moved on.

But that single exchange—that gaze, that line—stayed with me, quietly echoing long after the moment had passed.

Our meal ended quietly, leaving just the two of us standing outside the restaurant.

Professor Ikimura had already left halfway through—an unexpected call pulling him away.

The silence that lingered between us was not exactly awkward, but heavy—like the air before rain.

Atsu finished talking with the store clerk, perhaps settling the bill, then turned toward me.

“I’ll walk you back,” he said softly. “to the campus.” 

His hand lifted slightly, a polite gesture in the direction we’d come from.

I shook my head gently. 

“It’s alright. I’m heading home from here.”

He paused, then nodded once. 

“Okay.”

We exchanged brief bows—a quiet farewell—and I began to step away.

Then his voice called out behind me.

I turned. 

He stood there, one hand raised, waving his phone slightly.

“Your number.” he said — simple, direct.

“Ah—” 

I fumbled for my phone, a little startled.

Our eyes met for a moment as we exchanged numbers—nothing more, nothing less.

“Then…” I bowed politely again.

When I looked up, he’d already relaxed—one hand slipping casually into his pocket, the other flicking a lighter.

A soft click, a faint trail of smoke curled upward as he brought a cigarette to his lips.

His eyes, though calm, never left me.

I hesitated, unsure how to respond, then turned slightly away—pretending to check the street, the passing cars, anything but that steady gaze.

But his voice cut through the quiet again.

“Why is he back so early? I thought he’d stay longer now that he has a girlfriend.”

The tone was casual, almost offhand—yet something about it felt intentional, directed.

I glanced around, expecting someone else nearby. But there was no one.

Only him—still watching me, brow raised faintly, waiting for a reply.

“Who?” I asked softly, unsure if I even wanted the answer.

He exhaled a thin line of smoke, the faint scent of tobacco drifting between us.

“Kiren,” he said.

The name hit me like static in a quiet room.

My mind froze, still trying to make sense of it.

He leaned forward slightly—enough to close the distance—his voice lowering to my ear, deliberate.

“Ki..-ren.”

I flinched, stepping back before I realized it.

“Ren?” I echoed, half in disbelief.

“Ren?” he repeated my words.

「ま、あの名前も使ってるみたいだね。」

(“Well, it seems like he uses that name too.”)

His tone carried a trace of amusement, the kind that toyed lightly with curiosity.

“So, you didn’t recognise his name from earlier?” 

He asked, a teasing lilt threading through his words. Then a faint smirk tugged at his lips.

“And you don’t even know his full name… yet you two are dating?”

A quiet chuckle escaped him, as though he found the irony far too amusing to hold back.

I stood frozen for a moment, his words sinking in one by one.

Finally, the pieces clicked—the name my professor had mentioned again and again. Hinezaki..

It was him. 

Ren.

But how did Atsu know?

That confession—those words—Ren wasn’t the kind to share something so private.

“Are you two… close?” 

The question almost slipped, but I caught it halfway, the answer already forming in my mind.

If the professor called him here because he was Ren’s friend—“a close one,” he’d said—then perhaps I didn’t need to ask.

I lowered my gaze, bowing once more, this time for real.

Then I turned, my steps steady though my thoughts tangled in quiet disarray, walking home through the evening air — heavy, filled with the weight of my own thoughts.

A text slips through his phone—a soft notification sound echoing in the quiet room.

He reaches for it quickly, eyes scanning the screen. 

Then, a sigh escapes his lips.

「じゃないよ！」

(“Not this one!!”)

Yesterday, when we parted ways—did I say something wrong?

Maybe it was the timing.

Maybe the place.

Or maybe… she’s rejecting me?’

Thoughts crowd his mind, restless and looping since morning.

What went wrong that day?

Why has she been so quiet since then?

But still —

‘I don’t want to stay silent.

I don’t want to be misunderstood.

I don’t want her to think I’m pursuing her as just a friend.

I… don’t regret it.’

The messages he sent last night—asking if she got home safely.

The one this morning—checking if she’d woken up.

No replies. None.

「落ち着いて。」

(‘calm down…’)

He tells himself, trying to think from her side.

「今、何してるんだろう。」

(“What would she be doing right now?”)

A moment of silence passes. Then, an idea flickers in his mind.

He logs into the game—to find her.

But she’s not there.

Last online: 3 hours ago.

「今朝？」

(“This morning?”)  he mutters under his breath, frowning slightly.

A long sigh slips out.

Then his eyes catch on her avatar — different.

「でも、服変わった？かわいいじゃん。」

(“But.. her outfit changed? It's cute though..”)

A small smile tugs at his lips, warmth flickering through the unease.

He imagines her choosing this new outfit—that quiet excitement, that soft laugh.

「会いたいな。」

(“I want to see you.”)

He opens the messaging app, thumb hovering over her name.

For a moment, he hesitates—heart tugging between wanting to reach out and not wanting to bother her.

Instead, he opens the new message sitting at the top of his inbox.

From: アツ (Atsu)

「彼女のこと知ってるの？でも、名前知らなかったみたいだよ。」

(“You know her? Seems like she didn’t know your name though.”)

Attached was a picture.

He taps it open—and freezes.

Her.

Dining quietly, unaware of the camera.

That familiar look on her face—calm, absorbed—the same as always.

He smiles instinctively. Just for a moment.

Then it hits him.

「ちょっ、ちがうって！！」

(“Wait— that’s not it!!”)

He jumps to his feet, staring at the screen again as if it might change.

「アツのやつ！！！ ほんとに！！！   あああああ！！！」

(“Atsu, that guy!!! Seriously!!! Aaaahhh!!!”)

He drags a hand through his hair, pacing in small frustrated circles—half angry, half flustered, and entirely helpless.

「でも、笑ってたよ。」

(‘but — she was smiling.’)

「…よかった。」

(‘…I’m glad.’)

A small breath escaped him.

He leaned back against his chair, phone still in hand, eyes fixed on that photo.

For all the confusion and noise in his head—the sight of her smile somehow made it quiet again.