Regret has a way of lingering.
It doesn't shout. It doesn't demand attention. It simply stays—quiet, persistent—settling into the corners of your mind until it becomes impossible to ignore.
For Ira, it had already begun to take shape.
Not as overwhelming grief, not as uncontrollable emotion—but as a steady, growing certainty that something important had slipped through her hands. And worse… she had let it.
The days after Posto left felt incomplete. Not empty in a dramatic sense, but unbalanced—like a sentence cut short before it could reach its meaning.
She tried to return to normal life.
She went to school. She sat through classes. She responded when spoken to. From the outside, nothing seemed wrong.
But inside, something had shifted irreversibly.
Every small thing reminded her of him.
The table where he used to sit.
The quiet knock in the evening that no longer came.
Even her books—once just objects of routine—now felt like fragments of a presence that had disappeared too suddenly.
It wasn't just that he was gone.
It was how he left.
Without anger. Without blame.
Without even trying to defend himself.
And somehow, that made it harder.
Because anger can be answered.
Blame can be argued.
But silence—
Silence leaves no space to respond.
"Ira, are you listening?"
Mira's voice pulled her back to the present.
They were sitting in the classroom, the usual noise of students filling the background, but Ira had been somewhere else entirely.
"…Yeah," she said, though it wasn't true.
Mira studied her for a moment.
"You're not okay."
It wasn't a question.
Ira didn't deny it this time.
"I messed up," she said quietly.
Mira leaned slightly forward. "With him?"
Ira nodded.
There was no point hiding it anymore.
"What happened?"
"I said something I shouldn't have," Ira replied, her voice low. "And he left."
Mira didn't react immediately. She seemed to be processing the words, weighing them carefully.
"Did you try to stop him?"
The question hit harder than expected.
Ira looked down.
"No."
And that was the part that hurt the most.
Not just that he left—
But that she didn't try to make him stay.
The realization stayed with her the entire day.
It followed her through classes, through conversations, through the quiet walk back home.
And by the time evening came, it had turned into something else.
Not just regret.
But resolve.
She couldn't leave things like this.
She couldn't pretend it didn't matter.
And most importantly—
She couldn't let silence be the end of something that had meant so much.
That night, Ira stood in her room longer than usual, staring at the door as if expecting it to open on its own.
But it didn't.
Because this time—
If anything was going to change—
She had to be the one to move.
"I'm going out," she said suddenly.
Maya looked up from the kitchen, surprised. "Now? It's getting late."
"I won't be long."
"Where are you going?"
Ira hesitated.
Then answered honestly.
"To fix something."
Maya didn't stop her.
Perhaps she saw something in Ira's expression—
Something determined.
Something necessary.
The streets were quieter than usual.
The familiar paths looked different in the dim evening light, as if the world itself had slowed down to watch her take this step.
Ira didn't know exactly where she was going.
Not precisely.
But she had an idea.
A direction.
And sometimes, that was enough.
She walked past the usual places.
The school road.
The small tea stall where she and Rehan had spent time.
The open field where fireflies gathered.
Each place carried a memory.
But tonight—
She didn't stop.
Because those weren't the memories she was chasing.
It took time.
Longer than she expected.
But eventually—
She found it.
A small building.
Simple.
Almost unnoticed among the others.
She stood there for a moment, her heartbeat louder than the quiet surroundings.
Doubt crept in.
What if he wasn't there?
What if he refused to see her?
What if it was already too late?
Her hand tightened slightly.
Then—
Before she could change her mind—
She stepped forward.
And knocked.
The sound echoed softly.
Once.
Then silence.
A few seconds passed.
Felt longer.
Then—
Footsteps.
Slow.
Measured.
The door opened.
And there he was.
Posto.
For a moment—
Neither of them spoke.
Time seemed to pause between them, suspended in everything that had been left unsaid.
"Ira…"
Her name left his lips quietly.
Not surprised.
Not cold.
Just… real.
"I'm sorry."
The words came immediately.
Without hesitation.
Without defense.
Because she had carried them for too long already.
"I didn't mean what I said," she continued, her voice steady but soft. "I was angry… and confused… and I didn't understand."
Posto didn't interrupt.
He simply listened.
"I thought you didn't care," she admitted. "But I was wrong."
A brief silence followed.
"I just… didn't know how to see it," she added.
The honesty in her voice filled the space between them.
Not perfectly.
Not completely.
But enough.
Posto looked at her for a long moment.
As if trying to understand something beyond her words.
Then he spoke.
"Why now?"
The question was simple.
But it carried weight.
Ira took a breath.
"Because I realized something," she said quietly.
"What?"
"That losing you… doesn't feel right."
The truth settled between them.
Unpolished.
Unfiltered.
But real.
And for the first time—
The silence that followed didn't feel like distance.
It felt like a moment—
Waiting to become something more.