"You didn't text for two days," Miku said.
Jay nodded. "I know."
"Was that on purpose?"
"No." He hesitated. "Yes. I don't know."
She studied him. "That's an honest answer."
"It didn't feel like one," he said. "It felt like avoidance."
"Those can look similar."
"Why did you ask me to come?" she asked.
Jay looked down at his hands. "Because I missed you."
Miku waited.
"And because," he added quietly, "missing you scared me."
"Why?"
"Because I didn't expect it."
They sat facing each other.
"I almost didn't show up," Miku said.
Jay looked up quickly. "Why not?"
"Because every time I feel hope," she said, "I wonder if I'm borrowing it from myself."
He frowned. "I don't understand."
"It means I give too much," she explained. "And then I pretend it doesn't hurt."
Jay swallowed. "I never asked you to do that."
"I know," she said. "That's what makes it harder."
"I don't want to hurt you," Jay said.
"You already have," Miku replied gently.
He stiffened. "Then why are you still here?"
"Because hurting isn't the same as not caring."
Silence.
Then Jay said, "Sometimes I think I love you."
Miku didn't respond right away.
"Sometimes?" she repeated.
"Yes." His voice dropped. "Other times I'm terrified of what that word costs."
She nodded. "Then don't use the word."
He looked confused. "What?"
"Use actions," she said. "They're cheaper. And truer."
Jay leaned back. "I don't know how to stay without losing control."
"Control of what?"
"Of myself," he said. "Of the past coming back."
Miku asked softly, "Do you think I'm trying to replace someone?"
"No," he said quickly. "That's what scares me. You're not a replacement. You're… new."
"And new feels unsafe?"
"Yes."
"If I pull away again," Jay said, "will you be angry?"
"I'll be tired," she replied. "There's a difference."
"And if I ask you to stay?"
"Then I'll ask you to mean it."
He exhaled. "I don't know if I can."
"Then don't ask yet," she said. "Just don't lie when you don't want me gone."
Jay looked at her for a long moment.
"I don't want you gone."
Her voice softened. "Then stop saying it."
He nodded once. "I'll try."
Miku smiled—not relieved, not hopeful.
Just honest.
"That's enough for now."
As they stood up—
"This doesn't fix anything," Jay said.
"I know," Miku replied. "It just stops us from pretending nothing's wrong."
He hesitated. "You're still here."
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because today," she said, "staying feels braver than leaving."
Jay didn't reach for her.
But he didn't step back either.
And for the first time, hope didn't sound like a promise.
It sounded like the truth—spoken carefully, together.