College campus in early autumn smelled like damp leaves and new beginnings. Students filled the pathways with energy—some rushing to lectures, others taking their time. Among the crowd walked Iwakura Mitsumi, her backpack bouncing with every step, notebook pressed tightly to her chest. “Today’s the day I will not be late,” she whispered to herself, speed-walking with laser focus. Behind her, a familiar voice spoke in a calm drawl. “You say that every semester.” Mitsumi startled and spun around. Shima Sousuke stood there, hair slightly messy from the wind, one hand in his pocket and the other holding an iced latte. He gave her that soft smile—gentle and frustratingly unreadable. “Ah, Sousuke-kun!” Mitsumi flailed a little. “I—I wasn’t late! I’m just… early!” He laughed lightly. “Same lecture building?” She nodded, and without discussing it further, they fell into step beside each other. Just like always. Even after breaking up last year. Their relationship had been short—two months of quiet, fluttery dates before Mitsumi tearfully admitted she was drowning in pressure from her academics and student council work. Shima, dealing with his own unresolved family problems, agreed. They broke up with the gentleness of people who cared too much to hurt each other. And just like that… they chose to go back to being friends. So here they were now—college sophomores, studying at the same university. Same campus café. Same friend group. Same routine. Everyone said it was “impressively mature.” Mitsumi wasn’t sure if it was maturity or denial. During lunch break, their usual group gathered at a table outside. Nao-chan waved dramatically. “Mitsumi! Sousuke! You two are early—is the universe ending?” Shima casually sat beside Mitsumi, ignoring the teasing. Egashira sighed dramatically, sipping her iced tea. “You two are freakishly normal as exes,” she said. “You talk more now than when you were dating.” “We’re just friends,” Mitsumi insisted quickly. Shima gave a small nod. “Yeah. We’re fine.” The group resumed talking about campus festivals, projects, future plans. Mitsumi laughed along, but occasionally her eyes drifted to Shima—how he listened attentively, how he offered his jacket when Nao-chan complained about cold weather, how he still remembered how Mitsumi liked her rice bowl (no pickles, extra egg). He was still kind. He was still Shima. And sometimes, kindness hurt more than distance. Later that day, Mitsumi and Shima walked together toward the photography club room. Mitsumi held a box of props for the upcoming exhibit. When her knees wobbled from the weight, Shima silently took the box from her hands. “You don’t have to—!” “I know,” he said simply. They went through the hallway, passing large windows where sunlight streamed in. Mitsumi suddenly spoke, voice hesitant. “Shima-kun… do you ever regret that we tried dating?” He blinked, taken aback. Then he smiled softly, like the question didn’t hurt him at all. “No. Not even a little.” Mitsumi’s throat tightened. “But we ended so fast.” “Yeah,” he murmured. “But that doesn’t mean it wasn’t real.” They reached the clubroom door, but Shima didn’t open it yet. He leaned gently against the wall, watching her with quiet eyes—those same eyes that once looked at her like she was all the light in the world. “Mitsumi,” he said softly, “we chose friendship because we didn’t want to lose each other completely. I’m glad we stayed in each other’s lives.” Mitsumi’s heart stung. She realized that even now—even as friends—Shima understood her better than anyone. “…Me too,” she whispered. He finally opened the door, letting her walk in first. Their friends cheered as they entered, dragging them into preparations for the exhibit. Things shifted back to noise and laughter, and yet Mitsumi felt a warmth in her chest. Even if they weren’t dating Even if their paths diverged Even if feelings remained unspoken They were still part of each other’s story. And maybe— maybe being in each other’s lives in any form was enough. For now.