That morning, heavy clouds hung low over the village sky. Rain poured down hard, drumming against rooftops and leaves in a quick rhythm. The wind carried a chill that slipped through the cracks of the old house, filling the air with the smell of wet earth.
Hana sat cross-legged in front of the half-open main door. A bowl of instant noodles steamed in her lap. Its warmth was comforting, but not enough to chase away the unease quietly settling inside her.
Her straight hair hung loose, some strands clinging damply to her cheeks. Her back was slightly hunched, the spoon in her hand moving slowly. Beside her, a plump orange cat sat calmly. Its fur puffed up a little against the cold, its tail curled neatly like a small blanket over her feet.
Mathien said nothing.
He just watched the rain fall heavily in the yard, dripping from the roof edges and rushing down to the ground. The morning sun didn't appear at all today. The sky only rumbled low, as if hiding something left unsaid.
And right then—
krhh… krhh…
Hana turned her head slowly.
A faint cough came from inside the bedroom. Suppressed, heavy, like someone trying to keep their pain from being heard.
Hana gripped her spoon tighter.
She stayed silent.
Didn't say a word.
Just sat by the doorway, with a bowl of noodles and a cat that wasn't just a cat.
And between the sound of rain and the swirling wind in the veranda, the world itself seemed to hold its breath.
Hana set her noodles on the small table near the door, then stood quickly. The cough came again—heavier, longer. Her hurried footsteps creaked across the cold wooden floor as she made her way to her grandmother's room.
When she pushed the door open gently, warm air greeted her. But it wasn't a comforting warmth—more like the stuffy air of a room shut for too long. Beneath a worn brown blanket, Hana's grandmother lay in bed. Her body looked smaller than usual. Her shoulders rose and fell faintly, her cheeks seemed even more sunken.
"Grandma…"
Hana sat at the edge of the bed, gazing at the wrinkled face she knew so well. Her small hand held her grandmother's cold arm.
"Should I make you some hot tea? Or—"
"No need," her grandmother whispered, her voice hoarse yet gentle. Her lips moved slowly. "It's just… a little chill. I'll be fine. You should get to school."
"But…"
"Hana."
Her voice, though weak, was firm. "Today's your exam, isn't it? Graduation. Don't be late."
Hana lowered her gaze. Her eyes shimmered, but she nodded softly. "Okay, Grandma…"
Her grandmother smiled faintly. Her wrinkled fingers brushed Hana's head. "You're a strong girl. I know you are."
From the half-open doorway, Mathien simply watched. His gaze wasn't the same as usual. Not arrogant. Not cold. Just a pair of blue eyes observing quietly—with worry.
Because he realized, Hana's world was never truly simple.
Hana's footsteps were soft as she walked to the kitchen. She poured the leftover noodles into the sink, rinsed the spoon without care. Her hands moved quickly, but there was something absent in the way she moved—like her heart was still in that bedroom.
From beyond the kitchen door, the rain was still heavy. Drops hammered against the tin roof and the yard, creating a cold, gray symphony that hung in the morning air.
Hana opened a small cupboard near the shoe rack, pulling out a pink folding umbrella—its edges torn, its color faded, but still usable. She glanced into her bag quickly, then stood at the threshold of the front door.
Her straight hair flowed freely, a few strands already damp from the rain's mist. The cold air brushed against her skin, but Hana didn't flinch.
On the wooden table near the window, Mathien sat still. His eyes, usually sharp and lofty, had softened. He said nothing, only watched.
Then Hana turned slightly toward him, a faint smile on her lips.
"Chiro…"
Mathien raised an eyebrow. "What?"
"Take care of Grandma for me, okay? I'll… come home right after the exam." Her words were light. But the weight she placed in them was not.
Mathien looked at her longer than usual. A strange warmth stirred in his chest, though it somehow felt troubling, too.
"I'm a prince, not a caretaker for the elderly."
"Yeah, yeah… but a good prince should be able to look after someone sick, right?"
Hana chuckled softly, opened her umbrella, and stepped outside.
The rain greeted her. The muddy road waited ahead.
Mathien stayed where he was. But his tail twitched lightly, as if holding something back.
"You foolish girl, why do you always push yourself so hard?"
He wanted to speak.
He wanted to stop her.
He wanted to tell her to stay.
But all he could do was sit silently, watching Hana's back slowly fade into the pouring rain.
🌸🌸🌸
The damp chill of her still-wet clothes seeped into her skin. Hana sat at the far corner desk of the exam hall, her hand gripping a pencil—but she hadn't really read a single question. The words on the paper blurred, not because the ink had smudged, but because her mind was far from that seat.
The sound of rain drumming on the school roof still echoed faintly. The classroom windows were covered in droplets, each bead gathering, then sliding down slowly like secret tears falling.
Around her, classmates scribbled away. Some focused seriously, others seemed relaxed—knowing they had tutors or parents who would help later. Outside, she had seen them being dropped off one by one that morning—on motorbikes, in cars, some even carrying cute lunchboxes.
But her?
Hana's hand clenched the hem of her school skirt. The edge was still damp. Her socks too. Her long hair clung to her back, never dried. She'd even forgotten to pack lunch—again.
And now, her mind was filled with one image:
Grandma.
These past weeks, her frail body coughed more often. Her voice grew weaker. Her steps slower, shorter. Even boiling water now took her twice as long.
This morning her face had been pale. Far too pale.
"If something happens at home while I'm here…"
Hana bowed her head. Tears threatened, but she blinked them away quickly.
She couldn't be weak.
Not now.
Not here.
Because if she failed, all of Grandma's efforts would mean nothing.
But why did it feel like even her own breath was thinning?
And outside the exam hall, the sky hadn't stopped crying.
The proctor's voice announced the time: fifteen minutes left.
Hana bit her lower lip. She forced her eyes back to the exam sheet. Again. Just a little more. Her small hand moved—shaking, but still writing. Answer after answer, filled in however she could. No longer caring if right or wrong. What mattered was finishing. What mattered was going home quickly.
Her heart had been left behind at home.
Since earlier.
The sky remained gray. Faint light filtered through the window slats, brushing over Hana's damp hair as she bowed silently. Her pencil tip moved quickly, almost in haste. Her vision blurred, but she kept pushing forward. Amid the faint rain outside, her heartbeat pounded hard. With all her strength, she endured.
For Grandma.
For the little home she had left in the care of an orange cat—who wasn't just a cat.
And somehow…
she believed Mathien would keep his promise.
🌸🌸🌸