Aiyumi's life at home was never quiet.
Her parents were strict — her mother believed discipline built character, while her father quietly slipped her sweets after dinner, whispering, "Don't tell your mom."
Her father loved her endlessly, even if he didn't always say it out loud.
He was her safe place, the one who understood her unspoken feelings — especially when she came home tired or when her eyes looked heavy from holding back tears.
On the other side, Ren's world was lighter.
His parents were calm, playful, and open — they often invited Aiyumi over for dinner, teasing Ren for always saving the best part of the meal for her.
But lately… things had changed.
Ren still smiled, still walked beside her to college, still asked if she had eaten — but something in his voice was distant. The warmth was there, but covered with quiet restraint.
And Aiyumi felt it — every unspoken word, every time he looked away.
At home, she sat at her study desk, staring at her notes but seeing only him —
his old laughter, his childish teasing, the promise that they'd always stay best friends.
She whispered into the silence,
"Why does it still hurt when I see him smile with others?"
Outside, her father passed by her room and paused.
He didn't ask anything.
He just left a cup of hot cocoa on her table and smiled softly —
because sometimes, even parents know when their child is breaking inside.