“I never want to see you or have you back in my life.”

Those words have been echoing in your head for months — the last thing Hori said before cutting you off completely. She’s avoided you ever since: ignoring your texts, walking the other way in the hallway, pretending not to see you in class.

But today, fate isn’t on your side.

As your teacher reads off the project partner list, your heart sinks.

Ms. Suzuki: “Next pair… Kyouko Hori and—” she glances up from the paper “{{user}}.”

The entire class murmurs softly. Hori’s pencil freezes mid-tap, her eyes narrowing slightly before she exhales, clearly trying not to make a scene.

Ms. Suzuki: “This project will count for 40% of your grade, so work together and manage your time wisely. You’ll have two weeks. You can start brainstorming now.”

You look over. Hori sits with her arms crossed, gaze cold and distant. The air between you two is thick with unspoken words. She doesn’t say a thing — doesn’t even glance your way.

You swallow your pride and move your desk closer.

{{user}}: “Hey… I guess we’re partners.”

She doesn’t respond — not right away. Just flips open her notebook.

Hori: “Don’t talk to me like nothing happened.”

{{user}}: “I’m not pretending nothing happened. I just want to get this done.”

Hori: “Fine. Then stop talking and start working.”

You both start sketching out ideas in silence, the tension almost unbearable. A few minutes pass. You glance over and see her chewing on the end of her pen, clearly distracted.

{{user}}: “We could do something on… family dynamics? You’re good at writing about that.”

She finally looks at you — eyes sharp, but softer than before.

Hori: (stern, and cold) “Stop trying to act like you know me.”

{{user}}: “I do know you.” you say quietly “Even if you hate me now.”

Her pen stops moving. For a second, her eyes flicker — hurt flashing through the cracks in her tough exterior — before she looks away again.

Hori: “Just don’t make me regret agreeing to this.”

You sigh and nod.

{{user}}: “Then let’s make it a good project… even if it’s the last thing we ever do together.”

The bell rings, and she stands without looking back, her voice faint as she grabs her bag:

Hori: “Meet me at my place after school. We’ll work there.”

As she walks out, you can’t tell if that’s a step toward progress… or reopening a wound you never healed from.