The Unavoidable

A month passed.

And I was no longer the boy everyone used to know.

The boy who laughed the loudest, smiled the brightest, lit up the room with nothing but his presence—

He was gone.

In his place stood someone colder.

Quieter.

Sharper.

I moved through school like a shadow—

Unseen, yet impossible to ignore.

No longer the heart of the classroom, but the storm that made it hold its breath.

People whispered when I passed.

Not out of pity anymore—

But out of wonder.

Curiosity.

Admiration.

"He's changed…"

"He looks… colder, but kinda… hotter?"

"I heard he trains every day after school."

"He always walks alone now."

Girls noticed me now.

Their eyes lingered longer.

Some smiled, flirted, offered compliments laced with intentions.

I gave them nothing.

Just a glance.

A nod.

A wall.

I wasn't here for games.

Not anymore.

If love was something people could toss aside when it was no longer convenient—

Then I didn't want it.

And then there was Kuruha.

She watched from afar.

Every day.

Like a ghost haunting the boy she used to love.

Her eyes clung to me in silence.

Her smile would flicker—then vanish when I passed without a glance.

She saw the armor I'd built around myself.

The fire I'd lit to survive.

And I saw it in her eyes:

Regret.

But it was too late.

She made her choice—

To break me.

And I made mine—

To rebuild without her.

Then came a morning like any other.

Until the teacher made an announcement.

"Class, listen up. We'll be holding a cultural exhibit next month. Each group will work on a presentation, and I'll be assigning the members randomly."

Groans filled the room.

Random meant chaos.

"Pay attention. I'll read the groups now…"

I leaned back in my seat, arms crossed, face blank.

I didn't care who I worked with.

I'd do my part. That was all.

"Group 3… Kuruha Mizuno…"

No reaction.

Not even a flicker in my eyes.

"…Yehoshua Sugimoto."

Silence.

It swept across the room like a wave crashing onto shore.

A few heads turned.

Gasps fluttered in the air.

Even Shina looked like she forgot how to breathe.

I didn't move.

Three rows away, Kuruha stiffened in her seat.

Her lips parted, barely—

Like she wanted to say something.

But didn't.

The teacher moved on.

I tapped my finger once against the desk.

A single sound.

Final.

It was happening.

We were going to have to talk.

Later That Day…

"Uhm… Yeho?"

Her voice was softer than I remembered.

I didn't look up.

Kuruha stood by my desk after class, clutching her notebook like it was the only thing keeping her steady.

"We… we should talk about the project," she murmured.

I stood, slinging my bag over my shoulder with practiced ease.

"I'll work on my part. Send me the outline."

My voice was ice. Sharp. Detached.

Then I walked right past her.

"Wait—can we at least talk about it together? The teacher said—"

I stopped in the hallway, turning just enough for her to see my eyes.

"There's nothing to talk about."

"We're not friends."

"This is just a project."

She flinched—

Like my words struck something deep.

I didn't stay to watch the wound sink in.

Later That Night…

Kuruha sat in her room, hunched over the outline document.

But the page was blank.

The pencil in her hand didn't move.

Her mind was a blur of thoughts—

But all she could see was him.

The way Yehoshua passed her earlier—

No smile.

No warmth.

No teasing tone.

Just cold indifference.

A stranger wearing the face of someone who once held her hand under the stars.

Tears welled in her eyes before she could stop them.

She wiped them away—once.

Twice.

But they kept falling, hot and silent.

She curled into her blanket, trembling.

"I deserve this," she whispered.

"But it hurts… so much…"

She buried her face in her knees.

"Why did I do this?

Why did I throw him away…?"

Images flooded her mind.

His grin when he beat her in a game.

The way he used to walk her home, holding her bag and heart at the same time.

The way he used to say her name like it meant the world.

Now—

She couldn't even get him to look at her.

Her sobs echoed softly in the room.

She cried—

Not because he was cold.

But because he had every reason to be.

And that—

That was what shattered her most.