The school bell rang, its shrill echo bouncing through the emptying halls. Kanta stayed behind, his gaze fixed out the window, watching as students trickled out, their laughter fading into the distance. Tanya lingered by the door, her fingers brushing against the frame, as if she couldn't decide whether to stay or leave.

Kanta could feel the tension in the room, a heavy silence that settled between them. He glanced back, catching the way Tanya's eyes shifted away from his when he tried to meet her gaze. There was something different today—something off that he couldn't quite place.

She turned slowly, her eyes finally finding his. There was a calmness there, but beneath it, something else lingered. A hesitation. A distance.

"Kanta," she began, her voice softer than usual, almost fragile. She paused, biting her lip, her eyes dropping to the floor. "I think... we should stop spending so much time together."

Kanta's chest tightened. He blinked, not quite sure if he'd heard her correctly. Kanta thought Tanya had been acting differently lately, but he never would've thought it would come to this. He forced a smile, trying to make light of it. "What are you talking about, Tanya?" He chuckled, but the sound felt hollow in the empty room.

Tanya didn't laugh. Her lips curved upward, but it wasn't a real smile. It was fleeting, sad. She looked away again, her fingers tightening on the doorframe. Kanta watched her, his confusion growing. He could see how her shoulders were tense, the way her jaw clenched like she was bracing herself—for what, he didn't know.

The silence stretched, the weight of her words sinking in. Kanta swallowed, a strange mix of fear and confusion bubbling inside him. "Did I... do something wrong?"

She shook her head, her short black hair shifting slightly as she lowered her gaze. "No, Kanta. It's not that. You didn't do anything wrong." Her voice wavered, and she took a breath, steadying herself. "It's just... better this way."

He stepped forward, his heart pounding, a sense of desperation clawing at him. "Tanya, I don't understand."

She looked up then, and for a moment, he saw it—the pain in her eyes, the regret. She opened her mouth as if to say something, but then closed it, her gaze dropping once more. "It's not you," she whispered. "It's just... I need some space."

Kanta wanted to argue, to tell her that whatever it was, they could work through it. But the words wouldn't come. His thoughts raced—what could he say to make her stay? What if this was his last chance? But then he saw the resolve in her eyes, the finality. The expression on her face was something he'd never seen before—something that rendered him scared and speechless.

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"Take care, Kanta," she said, her voice barely audible, and before he could respond, she turned and walked away. Her footsteps echoed down the empty hallway, each one pulling her further from him.

Kanta stood there, staring at the door, his hands clenched at his sides. He wanted to run after her, to demand an explanation, but his feet felt rooted to the ground. The air felt heavy, the emptiness in the room pressing down on him. He knew that forcing her to stay wouldn't change her mind, it would only make things worse. Whatever had changed, it wasn't something he could undo just by stopping her.

Images of their time together flashed through his mind—moments when they were more than friends but never quite lovers. There were days when the two of them would go through school without talking to anyone but each other, their own little world amid the chaos of high school life. He remembered waiting for her after her club practice late in the evening, how they would walk to cram school together because Tanya didn't like taking crowded trains. He remembered how she would always save him a seat at lunch, how her eyes lit up when she laughed at his jokes when nobody else did. Those little moments—simple, but profound—were everything to him, and now they were slipping away.

He remembered the night at the culture festival, under the starry sky, when the crowded school felt like it had disappeared, leaving just the two of them. It had seemed like the perfect chance to ask Tanya out, but the words had caught in his throat. He wasn't sure what she really thought of him. What if she didn't feel the same way? He was scared of being rejected, scared that their relationship would never be the same if she said no. In truth, he had been satisfied with what they had—too afraid to risk it, too afraid to push for something more.

Maybe if he had been brave enough, things would have been different. Maybe if he had taken that chance, Tanya wouldn’t be walking away now. Or maybe it was something else entirely—something he should have done, or something he had failed to do, that had made her decide this.

Slowly, he sank back into his seat, his eyes still on the doorway where Tanya had disappeared.

He didn't understand—not really. But he knew this wasn't something he could easily fix. Helplessness gripped him, his chest tightening, butterflies swirling in his stomach. The fear of losing Tanya forever gnawed at him with each passing second. The way her voice trembled, the way she wouldn't meet his eyes—these were signs that whatever they had was slipping away, and he was powerless to stop it. He had been content with the ambiguity, too afraid to push for more. He feared rejection, feared that if she didn't feel the same way, everything would fall apart. His own insecurities—thinking he wasn't good enough or that he might ruin their bond—held him back. Now, the very thing that had seemed safe was dissolving before his eyes, leaving him with nothing.

The courtyard outside was almost empty now, just a few students lingering by the gate. Kanta closed his eyes, letting out a shaky breath. He had lost her, and he didn't even know why.