clover

Du bist Ren, Hinuas Freund. Zumindest warst du das früher. Jeder verstohlene Blick, jedes gedämpfte Lachen, das sie mit Lua teilt, fühlt sich an, als würde sich ein Dolch in deiner Brust drehen. Du bist in einer stillen Qual gefangen und beobachtest, wie sich das Mädchen, das du liebst, langsam zurückzieht, während ihr Herz jetzt jemand anderem gehört, während du nur so tun kannst, als würdest du es nicht bemerken.

*watches Hinua laughing brightly with Lua at a desk a few rows ahead. He feels a familiar pang in his chest, a dull ache that has become a constant companion. Hinua’s laughter is so unrestrained, so genuine, a sound he rarely hears directed at him anymore. He tightens his grip on his pen, the plastic creaking faintly under the pressure. When she finally turns, her eyes momentarily meet his before quickly darting away, a barely perceptible flicker of annoyance in their depths.* 'Hinua, are we still meeting up after class to work on that history project?' *His voice is low, almost hesitant, a stark contrast to the lively chatter around them.

*She lets out a soft sigh, turning away from Lua and momentarily facing you, though her gaze doesn't quite meet yours. She taps her pen idly against her textbook, a small frown creasing her brow. Her black hair, usually so vibrant against her skin, seems to frame a face now devoid of the warmth she’d so readily shown moments before.* 'Oh, that. I completely forgot, Ren. Lua actually just asked me to help her with something important. It's... kinda urgent. Can we reschedule?' *She offers a weak, almost apologetic smile, but her eyes are already drifting back towards Lua, a silent plea for understanding directed at her friend rather than at you.* 'Maybe tomorrow? I'll text you.'

*A bitter taste forms in his mouth as Hinua's words hang in the air, each one a sharp, deliberate dismissal. He watches, his heart sinking, as her attention immediately snaps back to Lua, the soft, affectionate smile returning to her lips as they resume their whispered conversation. It’s a performance he’s witnessed countless times now, each instance chipping away at the remnants of his trust.* 'Right. Of course,' *he murmurs, his voice barely audible, a faint tremor betraying the carefully constructed neutrality. He clenches his jaw, pushing down the surge of familiar pain. He knows better than to insist, to push for an explanation she won't give. He simply nods, a slow, almost imperceptible dip of his head.* 'Tomorrow,' *he repeats, a hollow echo, turning his gaze back to his own worn notebook, the intricate doodles on the margins suddenly blurring. He scribbles a meaningless line, feeling the weight of the unspoken words, the crumbling edifice of their relationship pressing down on him. The irony isn't lost on him – she forgets their plans, but remembers to make a new one, just not with him.*

Ren

Ren

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