Chapter 27. How Do You Break Someone You Care About?

It was the final day of preparations for the book signing tour.

The air outside their quarters buzzed with energy—staff members hustled through hallways, voices overlapping as they rehearsed lines, double-checked schedules, and arranged last-minute details.

The faint clatter of boxes being unpacked and the occasional burst of laughter echoed like distant reminders of the day's importance. 

But inside the girl's quarters, it was eerily quiet. Ayaka lay sprawled on her bed, staring at the ceiling as if it held answers to questions she wasn't ready to ask.

The soft light filtered through the curtains, casting long, golden streaks across the floor, but even the warmth of the sun seemed unable to pull her from the heaviness pressing down on her chest. 

Yuriko stood near the dresser, her reflection sharp and confident in the mirror as she tied her dark hair into a sleek ponytail.

The rhythmic motion of her fingers pausing mid-twist as she caught sight of Ayaka's lifeless posture. 

"Ayaka, aren't you going to go out and practice?" Yuriko asked, arching an eyebrow as she secured the final loop of her hair tie. 

Ayaka groaned softly, her voice muffled by the pillow she'd buried her face in. "I'll go in the afternoon… or late in the evening, maybe?" She waved a lazy hand in the air as if that settled the matter. 

Yuriko frowned, sensing something off. Usually, Ayaka would be buzzing with nervous excitement, triple-checking her notes, pacing back and forth, rehearsing lines under her breath. But today… she was a shell of her usual self. 

"Something's not right here..." Yuriko said, crossing the room with quiet footsteps. She perched on the edge of Ayaka's bed, her weight causing the mattress to dip slightly.

"You've been like that since yesterday, Ayaka. Is there something wrong?" 

Ayaka hesitated, chewing on her bottom lip as if debating whether to speak.

Then, with a sudden burst of restless energy, she sat up, her hair slightly disheveled, her expression conflicted. She avoided Yuriko's gaze, fiddling with the hem of her sleeve. 

"Hey, Yuriko… have you ever rejected someone close to you after they confessed?" she blurted out, her words rushing out like they'd been trapped inside her all day. 

Yuriko blinked, momentarily surprised. She tilted her head, pretending to ponder deeply, though her curiosity had already kicked into overdrive. 

"Hmmm…" Yuriko tapped her chin thoughtfully. "I've had guys confess to me, but we weren't really close… so I guess it's easier to reject them." 

"I know, right?!" Ayaka's agreement came out in an exasperated breath, as if Yuriko had validated the very thing weighing on her heart. 

Yuriko's sharp instincts kicked in. She narrowed her eyes slightly, her playful smirk creeping in. "What's up? Is this about that guy who visited you yesterday?" 

Ayaka's reaction was immediate. She stiffened, her face turning a brilliant shade of red as she whipped her head around. "H-how did you know about that?!" 

Yuriko chuckled, thoroughly entertained. "Everyone was talking about a handsome guy with silver hair and blue eyes. But judging from your expression, I guess it's not him." She gave Ayaka a teasing nudge with her elbow. 

Ayaka groaned and grabbed her pillow, hugging it tightly like a makeshift shield. "I-is it that obvious?!" 

"Well, yeah?" Yuriko replied, her grin widening. She leaned back slightly, crossing one leg over the other with the confidence of someone unraveling a mystery.

"Let me guess—is he the reason why you want to turn someone down?" 

Ayaka didn't answer. Instead, she looked away, her face burning with embarrassment, lips pressed into a thin line. 

"I knew it." Yuriko chuckled, but her amusement softened as she noticed the genuine distress in Ayaka's eyes.

She reached over, gently tugging the pillow down so she could see her friend's face. 

Her voice grew gentler, more serious. "Hey… listen. Rejecting someone you care about isn't easy. It's not supposed to be. You're not just worried about hurting their feelings—you're afraid of losing the connection you have with them. That's normal." She paused, letting her words sink in. 

"The thing is, though, dragging it out or sugarcoating it doesn't make it better. It just stretches the hurt over a longer time. You have to be honest, Ayaka. Kind, yes, but clear. The worst thing you can do is leave someone with false hope because you're too afraid to hurt them now. That kind of hurt sticks around longer than the truth." 

Ayaka listened quietly, her fingers gripping the edge of the pillow. Her heart felt heavy, tangled in fear and guilt. 

Yuriko continued, her voice steady and comforting. "Tell him what's real. You don't have to justify your feelings or give a list of reasons. Just speak from your heart. Let them know you value them—that their friendship means a lot—but you don't feel the same way. It might sting at first, but at least it's honest. And trust me, people can heal from honesty faster than they can from confusion." 

Ayaka's shoulders slumped slightly, the tension easing just a bit. "But… what if I lose him as a friend?" she whispered, her voice small and fragile. 

Yuriko reached out, squeezing Ayaka's hand gently. "If the friendship is real, it'll survive. It might get awkward for a while, sure. But time has a way of smoothing over the edges. And if they can't handle it… maybe it wasn't as strong a friendship as you thought. That doesn't make it your fault." 

Ayaka's eyes grew glassy with unspoken emotions, but a small, grateful smile tugged at the corners of her lips. "Thanks, Yuriko. I think I needed to hear that." 

"Anytime!" Yuriko replied warmly, standing up and stretching with an exaggerated groan.

"Now, how about we both go practice? Sitting around in this emotional stew isn't good for either of us." 

Ayaka laughed softly, finally swinging her legs over the side of the bed. "Alright, alright!

-----

The rehearsals went smoothly. The sound of voices echoed through the spacious hall, blending with the rhythmic shuffle of footsteps and the occasional scrape of chairs being adjusted.

The team moved with practiced precision, fine-tuning every detail until the lines felt natural and the timing impeccable.

But Ayaka's heart wasn't in it. She moved like a shadow, her lines recited with mechanical precision, her mind drifting back to the weight she still carried. 

As the sun began to sink, casting streaks of amber and crimson across the rehearsal room, people started to pack up, their voices fading into the soft hum of evening.

One by one, they left until Ayaka was alone, the emptiness amplifying the quiet ache inside her chest. 

She sat down in the far corner of the room, hugging her knees tightly to her chest.

The coolness of the floor seeped through her clothes, grounding her in the present while her thoughts floated elsewhere.

She stared out at the large window, resting her chin on her knees,, watching as the sky shifted from gold to dusky purple, the horizon swallowing the sun whole. 

The glass reflected a faint, blurry image of herself—small, distant, and lost in thought.

The advice Yuriko had given her echoed softly in her mind, mingling with the fear she hadn't fully shaken off.

Back at the door, just beyond the threshold where light met shadow, Kazumi stood quietly.

His hand hovered near the doorframe, his presence barely a whisper against the room's stillness.

His dark eyes were fixed on Ayaka, studying her fragile silhouette—how small she looked in the vastness of the empty room, her posture wrapped tightly around emotions she didn't know how to release.

Kazumi swallowed hard, his throat dry as if the unspoken words he carried had formed a knot he couldn't quite loosen.

He shifted his weight, his heart tugging him forward. One step. That's all it would take to close the distance. One step to ask if she was okay, to pretend it was casual.

But his foot never touched the floor.

His courage wavered, tangled in hesitation and the fear of overstepping. His breath caught in his chest, and after a long, silent moment, he exhaled softly—defeated not by rejection, but by his own uncertainty.

Without a word, Kazumi turned and walked away, his footsteps swallowed by the empty corridor outside.

Meanwhile, Ayaka remained unaware of the silent presence that had come and gone

Her phone vibrated gently against the floor beside her, the sudden buzz pulling her from the haze of her thoughts.

She reached for it lazily, her thumb swiping across the screen, revealing a series of bright, familiar notifications.

[Group Chat: Yuki, Keiko, Ayaka 💬]

Keiko's message popped up first, her usual energy practically bursting through the text:

Keiko: "Let's eat out! I'm craving barbeque!"

Ayaka's lips twitched slightly, the faintest ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

She could almost hear Keiko's voice, filled with enthusiasm and absolutely no patience.

A second message appeared almost instantly.

Yuki: "I'm in! Let's try here!"

Attached was a photo of a famous restaurant, its tables filled with sizzling platters, savory smoke wafting in the background, and people laughing over shared dishes.

The warm, inviting atmosphere seemed to leap from the screen, a stark contrast to the cold emptiness of the rehearsal room around her.

Another message pinged a second later, this time with Keiko's signature persistence:

Keiko: "Ayaka, you should come too! You've got a LOT of scoops you need to tell us!"

Ayaka stared at the screen, her heart softening. The familiar banter, the casual warmth of her friends—it felt like a lifeline tugging her out of the fog she'd been stuck in all day.

Maybe this was what she needed. Not more rehearsals. Not more time alone. Just… her friends.

With a small sigh, she typed back, her fingers moving faster than her thoughts:

Ayaka: "Will be there within 30 mins."

She set her phone down, feeling a faint, comforting warmth in her chest. It wasn't a solution to everything, but it was a start—a reminder that she didn't have to carry everything alone.

Ayaka stood up, her legs stiff from sitting too long.

She stretched her arms over her head, feeling the tension in her shoulders crackle and release.

A few deep breaths, a slow roll of her neck, and she felt just a little lighter.

Grabbing her bag, she cast one last glance around the empty room, as if silently leaving her worries behind with the fading light.

Then she stepped out, letting the door click softly shut behind her, walking toward something brighter—toward laughter, food, and the comforting chaos of her friends.