Hikaru's feelings for Miyuki were growing, consuming him in a way he had never expected. He had always prided himself on being detached, someone who laughed at romantic movies and rolled his eyes at sappy love songs. Love, to him, was a weakness—a trap that people willingly walked into only to find themselves hurt or disappointed. But now, with Miyuki, all those beliefs seemed to crumble, and the fear of falling into that very trap gripped him.
At first, he didn't want to admit it. When they were together, he'd find himself noticing the smallest things about her: the way her eyes sparkled when she was excited, the softness in her voice when she spoke about her dreams, and how her laugh seemed to make the world around them fade away. These moments terrified him, and he would fight against them, forcing himself to focus on anything else, to drown out the warmth that surged in his chest.
As his affection for her grew, so did his anxiety. The idea that he might be losing control of his carefully constructed emotional walls kept him awake at night. He would sit in his dark apartment, staring at his phone as Miyuki's name flashed across the screen. His fingers would hover over the "answer" button, but he never pressed it. Instead, he'd turn his phone face down and pretend he didn't see it, convincing himself that this was the right thing to do.
"Love is foolish," he repeated like a mantra whenever he felt the urge to reach out. "I don't need this. I'm not that kind of person."
He began pushing her away with a cold precision. He'd cancel plans at the last minute, mumbling excuses about work or family obligations that barely made sense. He started responding to her messages with short, impersonal replies, ones that didn't invite further conversation.
Sometimes, he wouldn't respond at all, letting the unread texts pile up. Deep down, he regretted every action, feeling the pain of each rejection, but he buried those feelings beneath layers of logic and denial. He was convinced he was doing the right thing, that by distancing himself, he was saving them both from inevitable heartbreak.
Miyuki, meanwhile, was left bewildered. At first, she tried to be understanding. She told herself that he was probably just going through a rough patch, that everyone had times when they needed space. She respected that, giving him room to breathe. But the distance only seemed to widen.
The once-frequent phone calls turned into brief exchanges, then into silence. The warmth that had once existed between them cooled, and she found herself staring at her own unanswered messages, wondering what she had done wrong.
Her friends noticed the change in her, but she smiled and brushed off their concerns. "He's just busy," she'd say, though each time, the words felt heavier in her mouth. The late-night conversations they used to share had disappeared, replaced by endless nights where she sat alone, staring at the glow of her phone, waiting for a reply that never came.
As weeks passed, Hikaru could feel the weight of his decision bearing down on him. His days felt empty, and no matter how hard he tried to distract himself—burying himself in work, going out with friends, drowning himself in hobbies—he couldn't escape the gnawing sense of loss. He missed Miyuki's laugh, the comfort of her presence, the way she made him feel like he was finally home. The memory of her lingered like a shadow, ever-present and impossible to shake.
But admitting that he missed her felt like admitting defeat. It would mean acknowledging that he had fallen into the trap he had mocked for so long. It would mean that he had been wrong about love.
So, he continued to lie to himself, to build walls he couldn't break through. Yet, each night, he would lie awake, staring at the ceiling, replaying memories of their time together, hating himself for the distance he had created.
Miyuki, hurt and confused, started pulling back too. She stopped calling, stopped texting, and began to accept the idea that whatever they had was fading away. The few times they crossed paths, they exchanged polite smiles and shallow pleasantries, each pretending that they were fine, even though they were both drowning in silence.
The space between them became a chasm, wide and unbridgeable, and soon, it was as if they were strangers passing by, tied only by the fragile thread of memories neither dared to cut.
Yet for Hikaru, the feeling wouldn't go away. It grew, slowly and steadily, defying every attempt he made to suffocate it. He knew, in the deepest part of his heart, that he had already fallen for her.
He had fallen in a way that he never thought he could, and there was no going back. Every moment he spent denying it only made the ache in his chest sharper.
Love, he realized, was not a choice. It was not a weakness or a trap—it was a force that he had no control over, one that had taken root inside him long before he even knew it. He had been so afraid of losing control that he had pushed away the only thing that made him feel truly alive.
Now, as he watched the last remnants of their connection slip away, he wondered if he had made the biggest mistake of his life. But by the time he realized it, Miyuki seemed too far out of reach, and he was left standing on the other side of a divide he had created with his own two hands.