How To Lose A Crush In 10 Texts

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The sun hadn't even crested the horizon when I realized no one was going to bed.

The mansion was quiet in the way a battlefield is quiet after a fight — everyone breathing, moving, whispering, but the air still felt heavy with danger.

Rin was locked away in the magical containment space we'd built overnight, her body suspended in the faint blue shimmer of the caging spell. Even asleep, she didn't look peaceful. Her ears twitched at sounds only she could hear, tail flicking with slow, restless movements. I had to force myself to look away.

The rest of us had migrated to the library.

The room was warm from the constant glow of enchanted lamps, but the table we were gathered around was buried under an avalanche of books — cracked leather tomes, scrolls sealed with brittle ribbons, and volumes so ancient they left flecks of dust on our hands.

Sora stood at the far end, flipping through a stack like she was interrogating them. Her hair was a mess, strands falling into her eyes, but she didn't seem to notice.

Ayame sat cross-legged on the floor, a tower of books beside her that was dangerously close to toppling. She read in silence, face unreadable, only turning a page when she was certain she'd absorbed every word.

Mei was perched on a ladder halfway up the shelves, pulling down anything with "fox," "spirit," or "curse" in the title.

Elira had taken to skimming the more obscure, handwritten journals we found tucked in hidden drawers, muttering the occasional, "This is useless…" under her breath.

I… mostly watched. And read. And failed to read. My mind wasn't cooperating — every paragraph blurred, every word dissolved into thoughts of Rin's face twisting in pain.

"We've been at this for hours," Mei finally groaned, hopping down from the ladder with a heavy thump. "Half these books are just fairy tales."

"They're not all fairy tales," Ayame said, still scanning her page. "Some of them are… embellished truths."

"Embellished truths aren't going to help us reverse this," Mei shot back, tossing a book onto the pile.

"Here," Sora said suddenly, voice low but firm. She pushed a thick, yellowed tome toward the center of the table. "This one's old — older than the rest. Listen."

We all leaned in as she read:

> "A mortal may only bear the tail and ears of the fox if blood binds them to the beast, or if a spell was cast to change their form. Without one, the transformation is an impossibility — a falsehood, a story with no body to wear it."

"That's… it?" Elira frowned. "No ritual? No remedy?"

Sora shook her head. "It doesn't give a reversal. Just conditions for how it happens in the first place."

I rubbed my temple. "So either Rin was born from a fox… or someone cursed her."

Ayame closed her book with a sharp snap. "And we all know we didn't curse her."

"Which leaves…" Mei hesitated, looking at the shimmering cage in the corner of the room where Rin's figure slept. "The fox parent theory. But that doesn't make sense. She's human."

"Humans can still carry… unusual bloodlines," Ayame said carefully. "Generations back. Forgotten. Buried."

I shook my head. "No. Rin's parents are—"

I stopped.

Truth was, I didn't know her parents. I'd never met them. She never talked about them beyond a few vague mentions, and I never asked.

"Even if she had fox blood," Elira said, leaning back in her chair, "why would it surface now? Why not years ago?"

Silence settled. We all had the same answer — we didn't know.

The stack of books loomed between us like a pile of failures. Pages whispered as Ayame went back to reading, Sora rubbing her forehead as if the words might rearrange themselves into answers.

And I… couldn't stop glancing at Rin's cage.

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The first flicker of movement inside the cage caught my eye.

At first, I thought it was just her tail twitching again, the way it had all night — but then her ears shifted, her breathing deepened, and her head stirred against the shimmering air of the containment field.

"She's waking," I said quietly.

Everyone froze mid-sentence.

Books were set down. Chairs scraped. Mei moved first, stepping closer but keeping her hands slightly raised, as if approaching a wild animal.

Rin's eyes blinked open — sharp, golden, unfocused. They darted from face to face, and her posture shifted in that strange, animalistic way that made her seem ready to bolt or bite.

Sora crouched low, her voice soft, deliberate. "Hey there… easy. It's okay. No one's going to hurt you."

I realized, with some shame, that we were all speaking to her like she wasn't Rin anymore. Like she was just a fox in human skin.

"Do you… understand me?" Sora asked gently.

"Yes," Rin said. Clear. Human. Her tone was sharp with confusion.

Everyone stiffened.

It wasn't that we hadn't expected her to talk — but hearing her voice, perfectly normal, with ears twitching above her head and a tail behind her… it was jarring.

"You… can speak," Mei said dumbly.

Rin frowned. "Why wouldn't I? I—" She stopped, looking down at her hands, then over her shoulder at the flick of white fur. Her eyes widened in horror. "What—what is this? What did you do to me?!"

"No one did anything to you," Ayame said firmly. "You changed on your own. Do you remember how?"

Rin's gaze swung to me, searching. "The last thing I remember… I was in your room, Ren." Her voice softened for just a moment before confusion overtook it again. "I felt… weird. My head was pounding, my skin was too hot… Then nothing. I woke up here."

Mei exchanged a glance with Sora. "We've been trying to figure it out all night. Rin… can I ask you something?"

"What?"

She hesitated. "Have either of your parents ever been… not normal?"

Rin narrowed her eyes. "Not normal? What's that supposed to mean?"

Ayame stepped in, her tone more measured. "We mean… unusual. Different from everyone else. Maybe in their family history."

Rin's brow furrowed. "No. My dad's as normal as they come. I've never met my mother."

That made all of us pause.

"You've never…?" I asked.

"No," Rin said, gaze drifting downward. "I've only ever heard the story. My father told me they met when he was out hunting. Said it was in the middle of winter, and he found her lost in the forest. She was dressed too thin for the weather, and she barely spoke the language. He brought her back to the village, and… they just stayed together after that. He said she was… different. Gentle, but… distant."

"Different how?" Ayame pressed.

Rin shook her head. "He never explained. Just said she had a way of watching people, like she was always thinking something they couldn't see. She disappeared some years after I was born. Dad never said why. Or maybe… he didn't know."

Silence hung heavy in the room again.

The pieces didn't fit — but they were starting to look like they belonged to the same puzzle.

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Ayame was the first to break the silence.

"Rin… if your mother was 'different,' there's a chance she wasn't—" She stopped herself mid-sentence, glancing at Sora.

Sora picked it up, her voice softer, careful. "She might not have been… human."

Rin stared at them like they'd just told her the moon was made of glass. "That's ridiculous. My dad would've told me if—" She caught herself, lips pressing into a thin line.

"Would he?" Ayame asked quietly. "You said yourself he barely spoke about her. If she was hiding something about herself… maybe she made him promise not to tell you."

Rin shook her head, but there was uncertainty in her eyes now. "No. No, that doesn't make sense. I'm human. I've always been human."

"Until last night," Mei murmured, almost to herself.

That made Rin's tail twitch — a sharp, agitated flick. "So what, you're all saying I've just been… walking around with fox ears inside my skull my whole life? That's insane."

"It's not about what's inside your skull," Sora said gently. "It's about what's inside your blood."

Rin looked between all of us, her breathing quickening. "No… no, I'm not— I can't be—" She cut herself off, gripping her head as if trying to physically push the thoughts away. "You're wrong. Something happened. Something you did."

Her gaze landed on me again, sharper this time. "Ren… did you do something to me?"

I felt every set of eyes in the room shift toward me. My mouth went dry.

"No. I swear. The only thing that happened was—" I stopped, the truth catching in my throat. "…we were together. That's it."

Rin searched my face for a long moment, then looked away, muttering, "This is crazy… this is all crazy."

Ayame's voice was quiet but firm. "Crazy or not, it happened. And the only real lead we have… is your mother."

The air in the room seemed heavier after that.

Because we all knew what it meant — if Rin's mother wasn't human, then Rin's transformation wasn't a random curse or a magical accident.

It was in her from the start.

And that meant… it might not be reversible.

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