As I stood just outside the gate of the computer class, the rain continued to pour around me, its rhythm drumming softly on the umbrella he had so kindly handed me moments before. I had been so touched by his gesture—so grateful that he noticed my struggle and chose to help. My heart was still fluttering with the warmth of that moment when I turned back to thank him once again.
But what I saw stopped me cold.
She was walking toward him.
It was his friend—Blae. Tall, graceful, and always dressed just a little too perfectly. She held a bright pink umbrella in her hand, twirling it like it was part of a dance. Her steps slowed as she approached him, and just as she got close, she suddenly staggered, letting out a soft gasp as her foot slipped on the muddy path.
She tumbled forward.
And he caught her.
His arms wrapped around her instinctively, holding her steady as she clutched his shoulders, laughing lightly, as if the whole thing had been some cute accident. Her face was tilted up toward his, rain glistening on her lashes, and for a brief second, it felt like I was watching a scene from one of those cliché romantic dramas.
I couldn't move.
The blood inside me started to boil—anger, jealousy, confusion—all swirling in a storm far worse than the one falling from the sky. My fingers tightened around the umbrella handle. I wanted to believe it was nothing. I wanted to believe she really did slip. But something about the way she lingered in his arms, the way he didn't pull away immediately, made my chest ache.
Without thinking, without giving myself a chance to calm down or speak, I walked up to them—quietly, steadily. He looked up and met my eyes, and in that moment, I saw a flicker of realization.
But it was too late.
I thrust the umbrella back at him—shoving it toward his feet, not caring where it landed. It hit the ground with a hollow thud, splashing muddy water around it.
Tears welled in my eyes, burning as they fell down my cheeks, blending with the cold rain. I turned and ran, not waiting for explanations or excuses. My heart was breaking with every step I took, and the rain blurred everything around me as if the world itself didn't want me to see what was behind me.
He stood there, silent—motionless, almost like he didn't know what to say or do. A statue caught in a moment of regret.
Later that evening, I sat curled up on my bed, my phone vibrating next to me. I had thrown on a blanket and tried to distract myself, but nothing worked. My mind kept replaying the scene, over and over, until it drove me mad.
Eventually, I picked up my phone and checked the screen.
A friend request.
From him.
My fingers hovered over it. For a brief second, I thought about accepting it, hoping maybe he had something to say that would make it all make sense. But then I remembered the look on Blae's face, how comfortable she was in his arms, and how helpless I had felt in that moment.
I hit "decline."
The messages began soon after—from his friends. They tried to explain, to speak for him, to ask me to listen.
But I didn't want to hear it. Not then. Not when I was still raw and full of pain. I powered off my phone, tossed it on the table, and sank deeper into my pillow, letting the silence wrap around me like a cocoon.
The tears came freely now.
I didn't know what was real anymore.
I didn't know if I overreacted or if I had just seen the truth too clearly.
All I knew was that my heart hurt more than I thought it could. And somewhere between tears and exhaustion, I fell asleep—still wearing the same clothes, the scent of rain still on me, and my dreams full of broken promises and what-ifs.