The school bell rang, its shrill tone fading as students began streaming out of the classroom. Kanta and Teiichi were huddled over Kanta's desk, locked in a card game. Their expressions shifted between focused seriousness and bursts of laughter. They had been playing since the last period ended, barely noticing the room slowly emptying.

Eventually, it was just the two of them and Tanya, who stood nervously by the door. Kanta noticed her lingering out of the corner of his eye, her fingers brushing lightly against the doorframe. She seemed unsure whether to step inside or turn away.

Kanta exchanged a look with Teiichi, nodding slightly towards the door. Teiichi caught on, gathering the cards with a small grin.

"Guess that's my cue," Teiichi said, giving Kanta a light pat on the shoulder. "Catch you later, Homo-chan." He gave Tanya a brief nod as he walked past her, leaving without another word.

Kanta watched his friend leave before turning his attention fully to Tanya. He stood up, his expression softening. "Hey, what's up?" he asked, keeping his tone casual.

Tanya glanced up, her fingers still brushing the doorframe. She looked like she was carrying a weight too heavy to bear, her shoulders slumped, her eyes avoiding his.

She took a hesitant step towards him, her lips parting, but no words came. Kanta waited, the silence heavy between them, until she finally whispered, "Kanta... we need to stop spending so much time together." Her voice was barely audible, almost swallowed by the quiet room.

The smile slipped from Kanta's face, replaced by confusion. "What... what are you talking about?" He tried to laugh, but it came out strained. "Stop joking around, Tanya."

But Tanya didn’t smile. Her eyes, once bright when they shared jokes, now seemed dim, weighed down with exhaustion. "I mean it," she said, her voice cracking. "I think it’s better if we... take some space."

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Kanta blinked, her words slowly sinking in. A tightness gripped his chest. "Did I do something wrong?" His voice was softer now, stripped of its usual bravado.

Tanya shook her head, her hair falling across her face. She brushed it away with a trembling hand, taking a deep breath but still not meeting his eyes. "No, Kanta. It’s not you. It’s just... I need space."

Kanta stepped toward her, his heart pounding. "Tanya, come on. Whatever it is, we can work it out. You know we can." He moved closer, but she stepped back, widening the distance between them.

She finally looked up, her eyes glistening. "Kanta, it's not about fixing anything. It's about me. I need time to figure things out, and I can't do that if we’re always together." Her voice cracked again, and she swallowed, her throat bobbing as she tried to steady herself.

Kanta wanted to argue, wanted to tell her she was wrong, but the determination in her eyes stopped him. There was no room left for negotiation.

"Kanta, take care," she whispered, her voice trembling. Before he could respond, she turned and walked away, her footsteps echoing down the empty hallway until they faded into silence.

He stood frozen, staring at the door. He wanted to run after her, demand an explanation, beg her to stay—but his feet felt glued to the ground. He was weighed down by the realization that forcing her to stay wouldn’t change anything.

Slowly, he sank back into his chair, his head falling into his hands. Images flashed in his mind. Tanya’s laughter. Her bright eyes. The way she always saved him a seat at lunch. The warmth of her shoulder during those nights at the culture festival. Moments that were simple, yet profound, now slipping through his fingers.

Maybe if he had been brave enough to tell her how he felt, things wouldn’t be falling apart. Or maybe it wouldn’t have made a difference at all.

He let out a shaky breath, his fingers tightening around the edge of the desk. Outside, the courtyard was nearly empty, the sky deepening into twilight. He pulled his phone from his pocket, staring at the lock screen—a photo of Tanya with her guitar, smiling at him.

"I lost her," he whispered, the words barely audible. He didn’t know why or how, only that it hurt—and that the pain wasn't going away anytime soon.