Rain again.
Of course.
It always had to be rain.
It smeared my pencil lines, left stains across the edge of my sketchbook, and made my shoes squelch with every step. And yet here I was, sitting on the cold bench at this half-dead station, waiting for a train that the screen had already told me was delayed.
I kept my head down, pencil scratching fast, like I could outrun the noise in my head. The storm outside blurred everything into silver streaks—streetlamps, wet pavement, the city that looked more alive than I ever felt.
I didn't notice her at first.
Or maybe I did, and pretended not to. A girl was standing under the leaking part of the roof, of all places. Rain poured down her hair, soaked through her uniform, but she just… smiled. Tilted her face up, as if the storm was something worth listening to.
Who even does that?
Idiot.
She'll catch a cold.
And then—she looked at me.
Direct.
Sharp.
Not like the quick, guilty glances people throw when they're caught. No, her gaze pinned me, like she knew I'd been watching.
My stomach flipped. I jerked my eyes down to my sketchbook, heat crawling up my neck.
But when I risked another peek, she was already walking toward me.
Shit.
"Hey," she said, stopping right in front of me. Light voice. Confident. Too confident.
"You've been staring at me."
My pencil slipped. "W-what? No I wasn't."
"Yes you were." She grinned, water dripping down her cheek. "For a while, actually."
The audacity. My face burned.
"I was just… wondering why you're standing in the rain like a weirdo."
Her laugh rang louder than the storm. Bright, carefree. It irritated me how light she sounded.
"Because some things are worth feeling," she said. "Even if they hurt."
I stared at her. Who talks like that?
"That's… stupid."
"Maybe." She tilted her head, still smiling. "But stupid things can be beautiful."
I snapped my sketchbook shut. "You sound like you read too much poetry."
"Wrong." She leaned closer, peering at me like she was trying to read me instead of the page. "I never read poetry. I just… like storms."
I tried not to roll my eyes. "You like getting sick, ruining your uniform, and making strangers uncomfortable?"
"Exactly." She chuckled, as if she'd won an argument I wasn't even having.
And then—without warning—she sat down beside me. Right there. Still dripping.
I stiffened, hugging my sketchbook tighter. "What are you doing?"
"Getting to know you," she said easily. Then she held out her hand.
"I'm Rei."
Rei.
I stared at her hand. It hovered there, steady, raindrops sliding from her sleeve. No hesitation. No shame.
"…Aya." My voice betrayed me before my brain caught up.
Her grin widened. "Aya. Pretty name."
I quickly shook her hand—just once—before pulling away. Her palm was warm. Too warm. I didn't like that it lingered even after I let go.
She leaned back casually, as if she owned the bench now.
"So, Aya," she said, like we'd known each other for more than thirty seconds, "what were you drawing?"
"Nothing." I clutched the sketchbook against me.
"Nothing, huh? Then why hide it?"
I shot her a glare, but she just looked back, patient. Waiting. Like she had all the time in the world.
And for some reason… I gave in.
My fingers loosened. I opened the book to the half-finished sketch—the roof sagging, the tracks glistening, the storm swallowing everything in loneliness. I braced myself for laughter, for a stupid comment, for pity.
Instead, her voice softened.
"It feels… lonely," she said. "But beautiful."
My throat tightened. I couldn't move.
She understood.
Nobody ever understood.
I looked down quickly, heart pounding. "…You're strange."
"I get that a lot." She stretched her arms behind her head, flashing me a grin that didn't need any defense. "But strange people are interesting, right?"
I almost laughed. Almost.
"…Not always."
"Liar," she said, smirking like she'd caught me.
The announcement overhead crackled. Further delay expected. Groans filled the station.
I barely heard them.Rei tilted her head at me, eyes glinting.
"Looks like we're stuck here together for a while, Aya. Guess you can't get rid of me."
I hugged my sketchbook tighter, pretending to sigh. "…Lucky me."
But deep down, I already knew the truth.
The storm outside wasn't the one I should be worried about.