Yuna didn't come the next day.
Her messages were short. Late. Careful.
Busy today.
Maybe tomorrow.
Sorry.
Ren stared at his phone like it might explain itself if he waited long enough.
"She's never busy," he said flatly.
Mio sat beside him on the steps near the river, twisting the wrapper of her drink. "People can be busy."
"Not like this."
I didn't say anything. I was too busy noticing the way the empty space beside Ren felt heavier than the rest of us combined.
We waited anyway.
The river moved slowly, reflecting the pale sky. Cicadas hummed in the distance, their song uneven, restless.
"She's avoiding us," Ren said finally.
Mio looked down. "Maybe she doesn't know how to say something."
Ren scoffed. "Then she should just say it."
I closed my notebook without realizing I'd opened it.
"Some things are harder to say out loud," I said.
Ren looked at me, surprised. "Since when do you talk?"
I shrugged. "Since now."
Yuna showed up near sunset.
She stood a few steps away from us, hands clenched at her sides, like she wasn't sure she was allowed to come closer.
"Hey," she said.
No one replied right away.
Mio smiled first. "You're late."
"Yeah," Yuna said. "Sorry."
Ren stood. "Where have you been?"
Yuna flinched.
"I told you," she said quietly. "Busy."
"That's not an answer."
She inhaled sharply. "Do you really want one?"
The air shifted.
"I might be leaving."
The words were soft. Almost gentle.
Mio froze. "Leaving… where?"
Yuna looked past us, toward the river. "I don't know yet. Somewhere far."
Ren laughed once, sharp and disbelieving. "That's not funny."
"I'm not joking."
Silence wrapped around us.
"When?" Mio asked.
Yuna shook her head. "I don't know. Soon."
That was worse.
Ren took a step back. "You're just going to drop that on us like it's nothing?"
"It's not nothing!" Yuna snapped, then immediately softened. "I just… didn't want to ruin this."
I felt something tighten in my chest.
Ruin this.
Like this summer was something fragile. Like it could break if named.
"You already are," Ren said, quieter now.
Yuna's eyes shone. "I know."
She left again soon after.
This time, no one stopped her.
We sat there as the sky darkened, cicadas crying louder than ever.
Mio finally whispered, "She's saying goodbye without saying it."
Ren didn't respond.
He stared at the river, jaw clenched, like if he looked away, something final would happen.
I wrote that night.
Goodbyes don't always sound like goodbyes.
Sometimes they sound like maybe.
I closed the notebook.
Summer was still here.
But its shape had changed.