Letting Go

The sky was soft with the colors of almost-night, streaks of purple and faded gold bleeding into the horizon as the sun dipped lower. The rooftop was empty, except for the faint rustle of snack wrappers and the low murmur of conversation that faded in and out like a signal just out of reach. The end of another random school day. It's been days since the last time they were here.

Mirei sat cross-legged, her back pressed against the metal railing. Aren was beside her, knees pulled to her chest, picking at the corner of her skirt. Caelis lay flat on his back, eyes closed, hands resting on his stomach, breathing in the cooling air like it was the only thing holding him together.

They’d been there for a while - long enough for the sky to change, long enough for the silence to become something comfortable instead of suffocating.

“Are you gonna go down there?” Caelis’ voice broke the quiet. He didn’t open his eyes, didn’t have to.

Mirei knew exactly what he meant.

Below them, just barely visible past the chain-link fence, Gale stood at the edge of the basketball court. He wasn’t playing. He wasn't waiting anymore. Just standing, hands stuffed in his pockets, head tipped back like he was trying to catch the last light of the day.

“No,” Mirei said softly. “I’m not.”

Aren glanced at her, but didn’t say anything. There was no judgment in her eyes, no push to make her try again. Just quiet understanding - the same kind that had carried them both through too many days, too many unspoken hurts.

“I think…” Mirei’s voice wavered, but she didn’t stop. “I think I wanted to believe that if I held on tight enough, if I didn’t let go, then it would mean something. That all those years, all those memories, they’d still be real.”

“They were real,” Aren said gently.

“Maybe,” Mirei whispered. “But they aren’t anymore.”

The wind tugged at her hair, and for once, she didn’t fight it. She let it pull loose strands across her face, let it slip through her fingers like the memories she’d tried so hard to keep intact.

Gale hadn’t done anything wrong. He hadn’t hurt her on purpose. He had just… kept moving, kept growing, kept becoming someone new while she stood still, tangled in the past. And maybe that was the real hurt - not that he forgot her, but that she hadn’t been able to forget him.

“It’s okay to let go,” Caelis said, voice low, steady. “It doesn’t mean it didn’t matter.”

Mirei closed her eyes. In her mind, she saw the red yarn wrapped around her fingers, cutting off the circulation, a promise she made to no one but herself. A thread tying her to a boy who once made her laugh until her sides ached, who wore her ugly yarn necklace like it was treasure, who smiled at her like she was the only one in the room.

She uncurled her fingers.

There was no yarn there now, no marks, no blood. Just her own empty hands, open and waiting for whatever came next.

The sky darkened, and Gale turned, walking off the court without ever looking up. Mirei watched him go, heart aching in a way that felt almost gentle. Not a wound, but a scar, the kind you press without flinching, because it doesn’t hurt the same anymore.

Aren leaned her head against Mirei’s shoulder. Caelis shifted, his hand landing beside hers, close enough to touch, but not quite.

They didn’t say anything else. They didn’t need to.

The thread was cut. The knot unraveled.

And Mirei let go.