The rain didn't wait until morning.
It came early, drumming against the windows before sunrise, washing the streets in silver.
I stared at the ceiling, half-awake, listening. I thought about the unsent message on my phone. About how much I wanted her to come.
And about how much I feared she wouldn't.
By the time I got to school, the sky was heavy and low, like it might break open again. The hallways smelled of wet shoes and damp uniforms. Everyone else grumbled about the weather.
I didn't mind. Rain made everything quieter.
A Slow Morning
Classes blurred by. Teachers spoke, chalk scratched the board, but I couldn't focus. Every sound felt distant.
Between periods, I kept glancing out the window toward the stairwell that led to the roof. It was locked during rainstorms — technically.
But the janitor never checked the back door.
When lunch came, I grabbed my umbrella and left without telling Hwan.
He called after me, "Where are you going?"
"Up," I said simply.
He shook his head. "You've officially lost it."
Maybe I had.
The Rooftop
The air was colder up there, the wind carrying the smell of wet concrete and earth. The city below was a blur of umbrellas.
I waited.
For a while, all I heard was the soft patter of rain against my umbrella, the world muted to a gentle rhythm.
And then — footsteps.
She came.
Eun Ji stood at the edge of the doorway, her uniform slightly damp, a small umbrella clutched in her hand.
"You didn't send the message," she said quietly.
I froze. "You saw it?"
She nodded. "It was unsent, but my phone still showed the preview."
I laughed softly. "Guess I'm not as subtle as I thought."
She walked closer, the wind tugging strands of her hair free. "Why did you want me here?"
"I didn't," I said honestly. "I just hoped you'd come anyway."
Her lips twitched. "You're strange, Han Joon."
"Yeah," I said. "But you still showed up."
The Shelter
We found a small spot beneath the overhang where the rain couldn't reach us. She leaned against the wall, watching the drops fall from the roof's edge.
"Why do you like the rain?" I asked.
She thought for a moment. "Because it makes everything honest. People hurry, cars slow down, sounds disappear. It's like the world takes a break."
I smiled faintly. "So even the world needs silence?"
She looked at me, amused. "Exactly."
The quiet between us stretched, soft and easy.
Then I said, "You know what I realized?"
"What?"
"That I don't actually like attention. I just didn't know what to do without it."
She tilted her head. "And now?"
"Now I think I just want someone to see me — not the version everyone talks about, just… me."
Her eyes softened. "That's what you've been trying to tell me this whole time, isn't it?"
I nodded. "I guess so."
She exhaled slowly, her gaze flicking toward the rain. "You're not as complicated as people think."
"Is that a compliment?"
"Maybe," she said with a small smile. "Maybe it's a warning."
The Confession That Wasn't
The wind picked up, blowing rain sideways toward us. She laughed and held her umbrella closer.
"Guess this spot isn't as dry as you thought," she said.
"Guess not," I replied.
I reached up, holding my umbrella over her too. Our hands brushed for just a second — small, fleeting, but enough to make my heart stutter.
For a moment, I thought she felt it too.
She looked up at me, rain reflecting in her eyes. "Why do you keep trying, Han Joon? With me?"
"Because I can't stop thinking about you," I said before I could stop myself.
Her breath caught.
The sound of rain filled the space between us — soft, steady, endless.
Then she whispered, "You shouldn't say things you don't mean."
"I mean it," I said. "Every word."
Her gaze faltered, and she looked away. "You think you do. But maybe you just like the idea of me — quiet, different, safe."
"That's not it."
"Then what is it?"
I didn't have an answer that made sense. Only the truth.
"I don't know," I admitted. "But when I'm around you, everything else stops feeling fake. And I haven't felt that in a long time."
She stared at me — eyes unreadable, emotions flickering beneath the surface like reflections in a puddle.
Then, softly, she said, "You're going to make it hard for me to stay quiet."
The Rain Slows
We stood there until the downpour softened to a drizzle. The city shimmered beneath the clouds, washed clean.
She closed her umbrella, folding it neatly. "We should go before someone catches us."
"Yeah," I said, though neither of us moved.
As she stepped past me, she paused. "Han Joon."
"Yeah?"
"Don't get tired, okay?"
I smiled faintly. "Not planning to."
And then she left — walking down the stairs, her footsteps fading into the sound of rain.
Aftermath
I stayed on the rooftop long after she was gone.
My shirt was soaked, my shoes ruined, and yet… I couldn't stop smiling.
Maybe it wasn't love yet. Maybe it was just something small — a spark in the quiet, a heartbeat beneath the rain.
But for the first time, I didn't need to perform.
For the first time, someone had seen me.
Late That Night
A message lit up my phone just as I was drifting to sleep.
Eun Ji: "Thanks for waiting in the rain."
Eun Ji: "And for not pretending."
I stared at the screen for a long moment before typing back:
Han Joon: "Always. Even when it rains again."
She didn't reply.
But a minute later, the "typing…" bubble flickered — then disappeared.
And somehow, that was enough.