Days passed.
The sketchbook remained hidden with Ren, but neither spoke of it.
At college, Aiyumi acted like nothing had happened.
She smiled, joked with her friends, and walked beside Ren as if the past months of silence and pain had never existed.
Ren, as usual, kept his distance — polite, calm, almost cold.
But occasionally, his small gestures betrayed him: a textbook handed without a word, a glance that lingered just a second too long.
To anyone watching, they were just two friends.
Two classmates from different classes, walking together, helping each other, laughing sometimes.
But beneath the surface, both were carefully guarding their hearts.
Aiyumi still worried about losing him completely.
Ren still carried the weight of his feelings, hidden behind his calm, distant mask.
Sometimes, he was gentle — a small smile, a soft comment — reminding her of the boy she had loved since childhood.
And then, without warning, he would go cold again.
Sharp words, distant glances, moments that made her heart ache quietly.
Yet, she refused to step back.
She stayed.
Walked beside him.
Endured the quiet storms he created.
Because deep inside, she knew:
Even if he acted cold, even if he hurt her unintentionally,
he was still Ren.
And leaving him — even for her own heart — felt impossible.
So they became normal.
Casual.
Polite.
Side by side.
And no one could see the fragile thread that still connected them,
a thread woven from childhood memories, unspoken love, and the sketchbook hidden in Ren's bag — a secret neither was ready to reveal.