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Chapter 5 — Read
(Ren's POV)
My phone buzzed.
Once.
I stopped walking.
The hallway was loud around me—lockers slamming, voices overlapping—but the sound in my pocket felt louder than everything else.
I already knew who it was.
I didn't open it right away.
I waited until I was alone in my room, door closed, bag dropped onto the floor. I sat on my bed, phone in my hands, screen glowing softly.
Yuto:
Are you okay?
Just that.
No emojis.
No excuses.
My thumb hovered over the screen.
I typed.
Deleted.
Typed again.
Ren:
I'm fine.
Three dots appeared.
Then disappeared.
Then—
Yuto:
I didn't mean to put you on the spot today.
My chest tightened.
The image of the cafeteria flashed in my mind. His voice. I do.
So calm. Like it wasn't something that could ruin someone.
Ren:
You didn't.
Another lie.
The dots appeared again, slower this time.
Yuto:
Then why does it feel like you're running away?
I swallowed.
I turned my phone face down, like that would stop the question from echoing in my head.
I didn't answer.
—
The next day, I felt his presence before I saw him.
He didn't sit immediately.
He stood beside my desk for a moment, like he was waiting for permission.
"Morning," he said quietly.
"…Morning."
I didn't look up.
I felt the chair move anyway as he sat down.
Class started.
I focused on my notes, but my mind kept drifting. The space between us felt too small. Too aware.
I shifted my desk slightly away.
Not much.
Just enough.
A second later—
The soft scrape of wood.
Yuto moved his desk back beside mine.
My breath caught.
He didn't look at me.
Didn't say anything.
Just stayed.
—
At lunch, I left early.
I told myself I needed air.
My phone buzzed again.
Yuto:
Did I do something wrong?
I stared at the screen for a long time.
Ren:
No.
The shortest answer I could give.
I didn't read the reply that came after.
—
We were paired for a class assignment later that day.
Library work.
Of course.
We walked side by side in silence, the sound of our footsteps echoing softly down the hall.
At the shelves, we reached for the same book.
Our fingers brushed.
I froze.
He froze too.
"Oh—sorry," he said quietly.
"It's okay," I replied automatically.
"You always say that," he murmured, almost to himself.
I looked at him.
He looked back.
Something unspoken passed between us—fragile and real.
We sat closer than before while working.
Not touching.
But close enough that every small movement felt intentional.
When he leaned in to point at a page, his shoulder brushed mine.
I didn't pull away.
Neither did he.
—
After we finished, the sun was already low.
"Ren," he said as we stood.
I paused.
"I'm not trying to force anything," he continued. "I just don't want to be someone you regret letting close."
I gripped my bag strap.
"…I don't hate you," I said quietly.
His eyes softened.
"I just don't know what to do when someone stays."
He smiled, small and careful.
"Then I'll stay quietly."
That night, lying in bed, phone in my hand, I reread his messages.
Over and over.
I told myself I needed distance.
But my heart—
didn't listen.
To Be Continued.