Yuna didn't come the next day.
That wasn't unusual anymore. What was unusual was how quiet everything felt without her. Like the world had turned down its volume and forgotten to turn it back up.
Ren sat on the steps near the river, staring at his phone. He hadn't said a word since we arrived.
Mio tried to fill the silence. "Maybe she's just tired."
Ren didn't respond.
I watched the water instead. It moved steadily forward, unconcerned with who was missing.
We waited longer than usual.
People passed by—couples, families, strangers who didn't know this place meant something to us. The sun climbed higher, heat pressing down on our shoulders.
"She said 'soon,'" Ren muttered suddenly.
Mio looked at him. "What?"
"When she said she might be leaving. She said 'soon.'" He clenched his phone. "How soon is soon?"
No one answered.
Later, we walked through the neighborhood together. Three instead of four. Our shadows didn't line up the way they used to.
At the convenience store, Mio reached for four drinks before stopping herself.
"Oh," she said quietly.
She put one back.
That hurt more than it should have.
On the walk home, Mio slowed beside me.
"Aoi," she said, "do you think people drift apart because they want to… or because they don't know how to stay?"
I thought about Yuna. About Ren. About the words we never said.
"Maybe both," I replied.
She nodded, eyes downcast. "I don't want this to be the kind of summer we regret."
I wanted to tell her that regret was already forming.
I didn't.
That evening, Ren finally spoke.
"I should've said something."
Mio looked up. "You still can."
He shook his head. "No. Not like this."
"Then when?"
Ren didn't answer.
The cicadas cried louder, relentless, like they were counting down something only they understood.
When I got home, I opened my notebook.
The page stayed blank for a long time.
Then I wrote:
There's a space between us now.
It's shaped exactly like her.
I closed the book and stared at the ceiling, listening to summer breathe around me.
Somewhere, Yuna was packing.
Somewhere else, Ren was breaking.
And summer—quiet, careless summer—kept moving forward.