He was untying his apron when Yuki came out of the kitchen with her bag over one shoulder and her hair down from the shift tie — the first time he'd seen it loose, falling past her collarbone in a plain, uncomplicatedly beautiful way that he noticed for approximately one second before looking at his shoes.
"Wednesday, same time," she said, passing him. "Don't be late. Ogawa-san doesn't say anything about it but he remembers."
"Got it."
She pushed through the back door into the rain. She had an umbrella — dark blue, ordinary — and she put it up in one practiced motion and walked away without looking back.
Hiroto stood in the doorway and watched the rain for a moment.
It was falling normally. Fast and straight and unremarkable. Just rain.
Good, he thought. Just rain.
He walked home with his collar turned up and his hands in his pockets and thought about the girl in the yellow dress, the dry circle on the platform, the inscription above the library door. All the things that had been pulling at him like a slow current for a week.
He thought about those things almost the whole way home.
Almost.