Chapter 3: And We Kept Walking
The umbrella flew.
Not like it broke or gave up—
but like it chose to be carried off by the wind, leaving behind two souls still learning how to stand under the same sky.
Ren and Himari both stared up, eyes following the spinning shape until it vanished into the dark.
And then, as if on cue, they laughed.
The kind of laugh that didn't belong to jokes.
The kind of laugh born from surprise, timing, and a strange kind of comfort.
Ren ran a hand through his wet hair, strands clinging to his forehead like silk threads in disarray. His shirt stuck to his chest, and water trickled past his collarbones. He looked to his side—and there she was.
Himari Kurosawa.
Drenched from head to toe, black curls darker now with the rain, the pink of her hairband slightly faded from the water but still stubbornly cute.
She wasn't shivering.She wasn't scared.She was just… smiling.
And somehow, that made everything feel okay.
"…Sorry about the umbrella," Ren muttered, though his lips curved as he said it.
"It's fine," Himari replied, voice light like rain tapping on leaves. "Maybe it had somewhere more important to go."
Ren turned to her slowly, eyebrows raised. "You're weird."
Himari shrugged, her arms dripping beside her. "Weird girls make the best rain partners."
Ren blinked. Then laughed. A soft one, this time. The kind you don't let many people hear.
They began to walk —no longer under an umbrella, just under the rain.
But it didn't feel like the same rain anymore.
It felt warmer. Softer. Like the sky was giving them a story.
The world around them blurred into watercolor.
Streetlights turned into halos. The puddles reflected clouds that didn't exist. Trees swayed like they were whispering secrets.
Himari twirled once in the open path, arms out like she belonged to the sky. "You know what this feels like?"
Ren looked at her. "A fever?"
She stuck out her tongue. "No. A movie scene. The kind where rain doesn't drench you—it kisses you."
Ren laughed. "You've read too many romance novels."
"Maybe," she said, lowering her arms, "or maybe you've lived too few."
He had no response for that.
Only a look.
One that lingered for just a moment too long.
As they walked past a large oak tree, the wind blew again—but softer this time, like a sigh. A single yellow leaf fell and landed on Himari's shoulder.
Ren paused. "That's odd."
"What is?"
He gestured around. "It's summer. That's a fall leaf."
They both stared at it for a moment—silent.
Then Himari smiled, brushed it off gently, and said, "Some things fall out of season. Doesn't mean they're wrong."
Ren looked at her again—this girl who said strange things and made them sound like poetry.
"…You're weird," he whispered.
"And you're wet," she replied with a smirk. "Shall we keep walking, Sharp brain?"
He shook his head in disbelief. "You're never letting that go, are you?"
"Not a chance, Sharp Brain."
The rain never softened.
They walked side by side again.
The trees around them whispered through the storm, their leaves shimmering with droplets. Puddles became silver mirrors. The park path curved like a ribbon unrolling between two hearts.
Himari suddenly stepped in front of him, walking backwards now, her arms folded behind her.
"Do I really look like a little kid?" she asked.
Ren tilted his head. "…Only when you pout. Or stomp. Or squeak."
"I don't squeak!"
"You just did."
"I hate you."
"You say that, but here you are walking next to me in the rain," Ren replied with a lopsided grin.
"…Fine. I mildly dislike you."
"Strong words," he teased. "I'll go cry in the puddle now."
She laughed. Her voice was sweet, clear, and bubbly—like something you wanted to bottle and save for darker days.
A shy drizzle now, barely touching them. As if the storm itself knew it had overstayed and wanted to give them a moment to breathe.
Himari's house came into view—a quiet two-story home with a warm yellow porch light glowing through the curtain of water. A peaceful little sanctuary.
"This is me," she said, stopping by the gate. "No dragons here."
Ren smiled, eyes lingering for a second too long.
"I had fun," she added.
Ren nodded. "You soaked me. Laughed at me. Called me sharp brain. Definitely fun."
She giggled, brushing damp strands behind her ear. "Well, thanks for being my walking cloud."
"…Walking cloud?" Ren repeated.
"You know," she said, "you had the umbrella. You were the cloud. I just lived under it for a while."
Ren didn't know what to say to that.
So he just looked at her.
And she looked back.
"I had fun," she said, brushing back damp hair. "Even if I ruined your umbrella. And your clothes. And your mood."
"You didn't ruin anything," Ren replied. "You just… soaked me. With laughter."
Her eyes widened. And then, she laughed.
"That was almost poetic, Mr. Cloud."
He shrugged, half-grinning. "I surprise myself sometimes."
She turned toward her gate but looked back.
"Hey… thanks again. For walking me."
"Thanks for being lost at the perfect time."
They stood there, suspended in goodbye.
"…Ren?"
He looked up.
"Next time," she said with a soft glow in her smile, "let's meet when the sky isn't crying."
"…And when you're not flooding me with water?"
She winked. "No promises."
And with that—just like in that—she turned and disappeared under the porch light, glowing like something rain couldn't wash away.
Ren stood at the gate, soaked and grinning like an idiot.
The umbrella was gone.
The storm had passed.
But her voice still echoed somewhere between his ribs.
"Let's meet again."
He didn't know what tomorrow held.
But he did know this:
He would wait for the next seasonless garden.
Even if it only bloomed for her.