Chapter 11: A Promise They Both Keep Breaking

The morning after their rooftop talk, Ren walked into class with the determination of a man who had made a life-or-death vow.

Avoid Yuki.

Simple plan. Solid logic. Zero chance of emotional complications.

Then fate—being the petty creature it always was—punched him in the face before first period.

“Harada, Aoki,” the teacher said, tapping the clipboard, “you’re on cleaning duty together today.”

Ren didn’t react. He didn’t need to. His soul had already left his body.

Across the room, Yuki’s expression did a perfect impression of someone watching her house burn down while holding the insurance papers.

Haru snorted loudly from behind them, earning two death glares. Mina calmly whacked his arm with her notebook.

Ren took his seat. Yuki took hers. They didn’t look at each other. They didn’t have to. The universe was laughing loudly enough for both of them to hear.

---

During break, Ren walked to his locker.

Correction: he thought he was walking to his locker.

He stopped when he saw Yuki standing there, opening the locker right next to his.

She blinked. Then he blinked. Then they both stared like two old ghosts caught haunting the wrong house.

Haru strolled by, whistling with the moral purity of a man who had absolutely rearranged the metal plates earlier.

“Oh? New locker neighbors? Crazy coincidence, huh?” he said.

Mina grabbed him by the collar and dragged him away. “You’re terrible at lying.”

Ren sighed. Yuki sighed. They reached for their notebooks at the same time. Their hands almost brushed.

He retreated like he’d touched a hot stove. She dropped her eyes to the floor.

So far, avoiding her was going great.

---

In class, Ren tried focusing on the lecture.

His brain had other ideas.

Yuki sat three desks ahead, hair tied up in a loose ponytail. It wasn’t special. It was the same hairstyle she’d always worn when she was stressed. When she needed to focus.

He’d seen it during exams. During bills and late-night feedings. During fights.

It hit him harder than he expected.

Meanwhile, she kept glancing back at him.

Every time he answered the teacher responsibly.

Every time he corrected a problem.

Every time he didn’t act like the carefree boy she remembered.

This Ren… talked.

Participated.

Tried.

She wasn’t sure how to feel about that.

---

During cleaning duty, they both reached for the same broom.

His hand touched the wooden pole first. She grabbed it a second later.

They froze.

Her fingers were smaller, lighter. Seventeen again. But the memory of her older hands—stronger, tired, holding their daughter’s—flashed across Ren’s mind.

Yuki snatched her hand back, cheeks pink. “S-Sorry. You take it.”

“No, you can—”

“No, it’s fine.”

They stared at each other, both refusing to touch the broom like it was an explosive.

Haru walked by, pushing an empty trash can. “Wow. The tension is so thick I could sell it.”

Mina threw a dustpan at him.

---

By the end of cleaning duty, Ren was exhausted. Not physically—emotionally.

Avoiding Yuki felt like trying to outrun gravity.

On the way out, she stopped him with a soft, almost reluctant voice. “Ren…”

He turned.

Her eyes lowered, conflicted. Hurt. Curious. Nostalgic.

“Why are we acting like strangers?”

He didn’t have an answer. Just a tight throat and a thought he shouldn’t say.

Because remembering us hurts more than forgetting ever could.

Before he found the words, she stepped back.

“We should… stick to the plan. Keep some distance.”

“Yeah,” he said quietly.

They walked away in opposite directions.

They didn’t notice they were still walking at the same pace.

Or that they glanced back at the exact same moment.

Avoiding each other was supposed to be easy.

It wasn’t.

Some promises were meant to break.