The air was cooler now. That perfect, golden kind of cool where it's neither too chilly to complain nor too warm to sweat. The sun had packed up its drama and left behind a soft, purple sky—like the whole world was dipped in blueberry milk.
Ren lay there, arms folded behind his head, eyes on the fading light, not really thinking—just being. Which was new for him. Usually, his brain was a group chat full of overachievers screaming 24/7. But here, beside a girl who had fallen asleep mid-sentence like it was her secret superpower, everything had... paused.
Then, a soft yawn. A stretch. And a very confused voice:
"...Did I just die and wake up as a cow? Because why do I smell grass?"
Ren blinked, tilted his head, and looked at her. Siya was squinting at the sky like it had personally betrayed her by letting her nap so long.
"You're awake," he said, sitting up.
"Noooo, I'm clearly still dreaming," she mumbled, rubbing her eyes dramatically. "Because there's no way I took a public nap next to a boy. My mom would faint."
He laughed. "Well, your reputation is ruined now. Might as well commit fully."
She sat up like a rusty door creaking open. "How long was I out? Please don't say 'long enough to witness the formation of a new continent.'"
Ren checked his phone. "Exactly 46 minutes and 17 seconds."
"Wow. That's suspiciously specific, stopwatch boy."
"I was not timing you," he lied.
She raised an eyebrow. "Uh-huh."
Then her eyes fell on the jacket covering her legs. "Did you put this here?"
Ren shrugged. "You were cold."
"Aww. Look at you being all chivalrous and gentlemanly. Trying to win boyfriend points you didn't sign up for?"
He rolled his eyes. "It was just practical. Don't make it weird."
"Too late," she grinned, standing up and dusting grass off her back. "So... you gonna carry me home like a knight now or are we back to good ol' bicycle adventures?"
Ren stood too, brushing off imaginary dirt like a perfectionist always does. "We're riding the bike. I'm riding. You've already proven your skills in near-death transportation."
Siya gasped in mock offense. "Excuse me? That was adrenaline-fueled navigation. Olympic-level. And we didn't die, so technically I'm a hero."
"You almost drove us into a moving car, Siya."
"And I braked just in time. Keyword: just."
He pointed a stern finger. "No arguments. I'm driving."
"Ugh. Fine. I'll allow it. But only because I'm still 7% asleep and 100% hungry."
They walked toward the gate where the bicycle stood—still loyally waiting like a dog Ren never asked for. He adjusted the seat, made sure the brakes were working (because clearly someone had tested them violently earlier), and patted the seat behind him.
"Hop on," he said.
Siya looked at the backseat like it was a wild horse. "You sure about this? I kick when I panic."
"Don't. Just... hold on. Tightly. No screaming."
She got on, surprisingly graceful, and wrapped her arms around him loosely. "Okay, fine. But if we die, I'm blaming your confidence."
"And I'm blaming your karma," he muttered.
They rolled forward, the tires crunching over pebbles and fallen leaves. The park faded behind them, replaced by quiet streets bathed in twilight. Streetlights began to flicker on like sleepy fireflies, and Siya—being Siya—started humming a random song that made absolutely no sense.
"Wait," she suddenly said, "can we not go home yet?"
Ren slowed down slightly. "You just said you're hungry."
"Yeah, but also... this is nice."
He didn't respond, just pedaled on with a tiny, stupid smile that he tried to hide by clearing his throat.
They passed a little tea stall, a sleepy temple, and two unbothered cats having what looked like a serious conversation in meows. Everything felt slow. Peaceful. Weirdly cinematic.
Then Siya, right on cue, ruined the moment.
"Ren?"
"Hmm?"
"If I sneeze while sitting back here, do we crash or do you just get wet?"
He almost lost balance. "What kind of question is that?!"
"A scientific one. Answer."
He sighed dramatically. "If you sneeze, aim sideways. Preferably not at me."
"Got it. No promises though."
She rested her cheek lightly against his back, and for a moment, didn't say anything. Which was rare.
"You know," she finally whispered, "this day was... oddly perfect."
Ren slowed near her house, the familiar street now glowing under the streetlamps. "Yeah. It kinda was."
She jumped off before he fully stopped. "Don't get used to it though. I'm still going to annoy you tomorrow."
"Looking forward to it," he said quietly.
She started walking backwards toward her door. "Thanks for the ride, jacket, near-death thrill, emotional sunset therapy, and... um... not letting me drool in my sleep. I didn't, right?"
"No comment."
"Oh no."
He grinned. "See you tomorrow, sleeping beauty."
"Drive safe, perfectionist," she waved, before disappearing inside.
Ren watched the door for a second too long. Then shook his head, got back on the bike, and whispered to himself:
"Yeah... she's trouble."
And then he pedaled into the night, purple sky above him, and a dumb smile on his face that just wouldn't go away.
🦋🦋🦋
Ren reached home just as the last threads of sunset dipped behind the buildings, leaving the sky a heavy, suffocating purple—too beautiful for how he felt inside. The colors didn't calm him. They mocked him.
He walked in, and his mother's voice floated from the kitchen, casual and warm. "Did you eat?"
He didn't answer. Not really. Just a mumbled, "Yeah."
He hadn't eaten.
Food felt pointless right now.
His feet moved automatically to his room. Door closed. Lock turned. Silence wrapped around him like a weighted blanket, and for a few moments, he stood in the middle of his room… lost.
Then came the smile.
Uninvited. Soft. A whisper of warmth on his face that should've felt good but instead felt dangerous.
Because it was her.
Siya.
The way she laughed at nothing, and everything. The way she fell asleep mid-sentence, like the universe owed her naps. The way she said death like a bedtime story, and love like a promise she fully intended to keep.
He dropped his bag.
That's when the shaking started.
It always began in the fingertips. Like his body warning him—don't go there. Don't think about it. Don't remember.
But he couldn't stop the spiral.
Because right now… he felt too much.
He remembered her lying in the grass, curled under his jacket. Her words circling in his head like they lived there now.
"One day I'll be gone. But I'll leave behind love."
And that stupid poetic nonsense—why did it sting so much?
His nails dug into his palm, so hard they left little half-moon scars. Good. He needed the pain. Something real. Something now.
Because the past was too loud.
The smile on his lips vanished, and in its place came the scream… but it stayed inside. Trapped. Suffocating.
He sat down on the floor. No, collapsed. His back hit the wall like it was the only thing holding him up.
His legs were shaking now.
Like they remembered what his mind tried to forget.
The yelling. The sound of glass shattering. His mother's voice—once gentle—twisted into rage. His father's silence sharpening into fists.
He remembered hiding under the bed, seven years old, pillow pressed over his ears. Wishing the world would just shut up for a minute. Just one minute of peace.
And every time they screamed at each other, he screamed inside.
That's when he started building walls. Walls of discipline. Of silence. Of perfection.
Because love? Love was chaos.
And he couldn't afford chaos.
He clenched his fists harder, trying to stop the shaking. It didn't work. His body was rebelling. His mind was glitching.
So he dug his nails into his skin.
One. Two. Three red lines.
His breath hitched.
He couldn't breathe.
The room suddenly felt too small. The air too thin. Like someone was pressing on his chest.
And then… the worst part.
He heard her laugh again.
In his head.
He hated that he liked it. Hated that it made his heart warm when it should've stayed cold.
"No," he muttered. "No. No. No."
He pressed his forehead against the wall, like that could somehow stop the memories. But they came anyway.
Siya's eyes. Full of life. Of light. Of everything he never had.
And that terrified him.
Because what if he let her in?
What if she saw the parts of him even he didn't look at?
What if she touched the broken pieces, and he shattered for good?
"I can't," he whispered. "I can't."
He wiped his face roughly, not realizing when the tears had started.
Because he never cried.
He was Ren.
Strong. Focused. Unshakable.
And yet here he was—shaking.
Over a girl.
But it wasn't just her. It was everything she represented.
Hope.
And hope was the most dangerous thing of all.
It gave you a taste of light… before snatching it away.
That's why he made the decision right there, pressed against his wall, fists bleeding into his palms.
Distance.
He had to pull away.
For her sake. For his sanity.
Because he couldn't fall. Not now. Not ever.
He whispered it like a prayer.
"I'll go there. I'll drop her off. I'll sit far. She'll talk to plants. I'll do some reading. That's it."
Because any more than that?
He would drown.
And he'd already spent too many years learning how to breathe above water.
He wiped the tears off one last time.
Then stood up.
Fixed his collar.
And put on his armor again.
The Ren that smiled, studied, helped, and stayed cold.
Because inside?
He was a wildfire of scars and silence.
And no one—not even a girl who talked to the moon—was allowed to burn him again.