The rain had started sometime between 3PM and 4PM.It didn't pour with anger or howl with wind. It just arrived—soft and steady—coating the university campus in a thin glaze.
Shoya didn't bring an umbrella.
He stood beneath the metal roof outside the architecture wing, watching students run for cover, couples huddle under shared umbrellas, and loners tuck books under their jackets. His hoodie was barely holding back the drizzle.
The lecture had ended early. Ken had sent a message: "Change of plans. Meet at 5PM instead. Need to grab something."
Taka hadn't replied.
Shoya didn't mind waiting. The rain gave him an excuse to stand still. Raindrops tapped on the roof above him, creating a rhythm that somehow soothed his always-scattered thoughts.
Then he saw her again.
Naomi.
She walked slowly along the path ahead, a pale-blue umbrella shielding her from the rain. Her steps were light, deliberate, like she was measuring each one. There was a book in her hand, half-tucked into her oversized bag.
Shoya watched in silence.
Something about her felt like a page from a book he once read but couldn't find again.
She stopped near the bench by the library.
Set the umbrella down.
And then—
Walked away.
No rush. No urgency. Just... walked. Into the rain, uncovered.
Shoya blinked.
The umbrella stayed behind.
---
"You're gonna catch a cold."
The words left his mouth before his brain caught up. He had jogged forward, umbrella in hand, calling out to her like an idiot who forgot how to think.
Naomi turned. Her eyes widened—not with fear or surprise, just... quiet curiosity.
"You left this," he said, holding the umbrella between them.
She looked at it. Then at him.
And then she smiled.
Only slightly. Only enough for someone watching closely to notice.
"It wasn't mine," she replied.
Her voice was calm. Softer than rain. But not cold. Just honest.
Shoya hesitated. "Still... you'll get soaked."
She tilted her head slightly, as if trying to figure him out. Then she took the umbrella and nodded.
"Thank you."
And just like that, she walked away again. Into the mist. This time with the umbrella.
---
Shoya returned to the shelter, heart doing strange things. He didn't understand the moment, not entirely. But something about the way she spoke—like silence was a second language—left an imprint.
He sat down, phone buzzing.
Ken: "Yo. Meet behind the sculpture building. Found something insane. Bring Taka."
Rain trickled down the edges of the roof. Shoya leaned his head back and exhaled slowly.
That smile—barely a flicker—had stayed with him.
And for the first time in a long while, he didn't feel completely alone.
.
.
.
By the time Shoya arrived behind the sculpture building, the rain had eased into a light drizzle—more like the breath of the sky than a storm. The pavement glistened beneath his sneakers, reflecting hazy patches of amber light from the campus lamps.
Ken was already there, crouching next to an old wooden hatch tucked behind the art department's back wall. His hair was wet, his hoodie dripping, but his eyes sparkled with energy.
"Finally," he grinned, shaking water off his sleeves. "Where's Taka?"
Shoya held up his phone. "Still not answering. He probably forgot to charge it again."
"Ugh. Classic."
Ken stood and pointed to the hatch.
"Anyway. You see this newspaper I found it?"
Shoya nodded. "Yeah. What about it?"
Ken pulled a folded page from his bag and handed it to him. The paper was yellowed, the edges frayed, but a red marker line circled something near the bottom—a name written in small, typed font.
"'Minami Ayaka,'" Shoya read aloud. "Who's that?"
Ken's grin faded slightly. "That's the thing. I searched the archives. There's no record of her anywhere. No student file. No graduation photo. Nothing."
Shoya blinked. "So…?"
"So, she's not supposed to exist," Ken said dramatically, throwing his arms out like a magician. "But there's more."
He pointed to the hatch. "I think she lived down there."
Shoya frowned. "You think… someone lived in the basement?"
Ken nodded. "Old janitor said this building had a storm shelter. But no one uses it anymore. The lock was broken when I found it. Come on. Just peek."
Shoya hesitated. The air smelled faintly of damp earth and old stone.
"Fine," he muttered. "But if there's a dead raccoon or something—"
Ken already had his flashlight out.
---
The hatch creaked open with a sound that made both of them wince. A narrow metal ladder led downward into complete darkness. Ken descended first, steps echoing slightly.
Shoya followed, slower.
It wasn't deep—just one floor down. But the air shifted as they moved. Thicker. Heavier. As if the place hadn't been disturbed in years.
At the bottom, the flashlight beam swept across an empty space filled with stacked crates, cobwebs, and old furniture covered in sheets.
"Creepy," Shoya muttered.
Ken moved toward the far wall.
"There's something here," he said, crouching again.
Shoya walked closer—and saw it.
A faint outline of what once might've been a door. Sealed off. Cemented shut, but just barely visible beneath the peeling paint.
There was something scribbled on the wall beside it. In pencil, maybe. Faint. But there.
Ken held up the light.
It wasn't writing.
It was… a sketch.
Rough, faded lines forming the shape of a girl. Long hair. Round glasses. A bag slung over one shoulder. She was drawn as if walking away, just like—
Shoya froze.
"…That's her," he whispered.
Ken blinked. "Who?"
Shoya didn't answer.
But in his mind, the image was clear.
The girl in the rain.
The girl who left behind an umbrella.
---
They stood there in silence for a long moment.
Then Ken exhaled. "Okay, maybe this was a bad idea."
Shoya's eyes were still on the sketch. The lines were messy. Almost desperate. Like someone had drawn it with shaking hands.
"She said the umbrella wasn't hers," he said quietly.
Ken:"Huh?"
.
.
The door to the old basement creaked shut behind them, but the echo stayed, bouncing softly through Shoya's chest like a forgotten song. He kept glancing at the paper in his hand—the one Ken had pulled from the dust-laced desk.
It was definitely a sketch.
A girl. Standing near the campus sculpture garden.
The style was loose, but expressive. There was motion in her hair, like wind had been captured mid-stroke. The shading was subtle, only enough to suggest time of day. Late afternoon, maybe.
But what stood out—what refused to leave Shoya's mind—was the expression.
Her eyes were wide.
Her mouth parted just slightly.
And in the distance behind her, drawn faintly, was another figure—a boy, looking at her, half-hidden by the sculpture.
"Does it look familiar to you?" Ken asked, shining his flashlight toward the shelves again. "I swear, this place is like a pocket dimension."
Shoya didn't answer. He just kept staring.
"Shoya?"
"It's... her."
Ken raised an eyebrow. "Her who?"
Shoya didn't respond.
(Naomi…!)
He didn't say it aloud. It felt too fragile, too unreal to give voice to. Like the moment he said her name in this dark space, she'd vanish from the sketch and from his mind entirely.
He folded the paper carefully and slid it into his notebook.
"You keeping it?" Ken asked.
"Just until we figure it out," Shoya replied, voice quiet.
They exited the basement, blinking against the return of sunlight filtered through misty rain. Taka was waiting near the vending machines, umbrella in one hand, phone in the other.
"Took you long enough," Taka muttered. "Find Narnia down there or what?"
Shoya gave a tired smile. "Something like that."
---
The rain had finally let up by the time Shoya returned to his dorm. The halls were unusually quiet. His roommates were still at the library or maybe holed up in some game lobby. He didn't mind the silence tonight.
He sat at his desk and reopened the notebook.
The sketch stared back at him.
Naomi's likeness. The half-familiar lines. The boy in the background.
He flipped to a new page.
And without quite knowing why, he started to draw.
Lines came easily. Rain on a windowpane. A girl waiting at a bus stop. A pair of shoes left beneath an awning.
Not her face. Not yet. But he was getting there.
As the city outside hummed in quiet, rainy fatigue, Shoya found himself drawing until his eyes blurred.
It wasn't obsession.
At least, that's what he told himself.
It was curiosity.
He wanted to know who is she
Why she was in that sketch
And why the air in that room had felt like it remembered her better than he did.
---
By the time the clock hit 11:02 PM, Shoya's sketchbook had gained five new pages. Each one looked like a memory from someone else's dream. Raindrops, distant figures, silhouettes of a girl walking away. Naomi's outline appeared in the margins, never fully drawn — just suggestions: the curve of her shoulder, the way her hair curled slightly at the edges.
He leaned back in his chair, shoulders aching, fingers stained with graphite and smudged ink. His lamp hummed above him, casting tired yellow light over the quiet dorm room.
He should've gone to sleep.
But something was bothering him.
He reached into his bag and pulled out the folded paper again — the one from the basement. He opened it gently, as if it might crumble.
There she was.
Drawn before he'd ever met her. Before the rain. Before the umbrella.
And in the background...
That faint figure.
Was it him?
His heart skipped. He didn't want it to be. That would make things too weird. Too heavy. Too fast.
What if it's just coincidence? What if it's not her at all?
A soft knock at the dorm door made him flinch.
He checked the time again: 11:07 PM.
He opened the door slowly.
It was Taka.
"Bro, you awake?" he asked, holding up a plastic bag. "Got snacks I was passing that 24/7 place."
Shoya blinked, then nodded. "Come in."
Taka stepped in, dropped the bag on the desk, and flopped onto the floor like a starfish.
"Couldn't sleep," Taka said. "So I walked. The city feels nice after the rain."
Shoya sat across from him, back against the bed frame.
For a moment, they just listened to the hum of the dorm fridge and the occasional buzz from a distant motorbike outside.
Then Taka spoke again. "Did you draw?"
Shoya hesitated. "Yeah."
"Her?"
He didn't answer. Just nodded slowly.
.
Taka didn't tease. Didn't laugh.
Instead, he said, "You ever think about why some people appear in your life right when you're not ready?"
Shoya looked down at the sketchbook beside him.
"All the time."
Taka leaned back on his elbows. "Ken's convinced this is gonna turn into some horror film. I think he wants it to. But you… you don't look scared."
Shoya tilted his head. "Should I be?"
Taka shrugged. "I don't know. It's not like anything's happened yet. It's just… weird, you know?"
A beat passed.
Then Shoya asked, "You believe in fate?"
Taka closed his eyes for a moment, thinking. "Only when it feels too hard to explain otherwise."
---
Later that night, after Taka had left and the lights had dimmed, Shoya sat on his bed with the sketch in one hand and his own drawing in the other.
He held them side by side.
The same girl.
The same tilt of her head.
Even the wind seemed to move the same.
And yet, one was a mystery.
The other… something he was slowly learning to understand.
He didn't sleep until well past 2 AM. And even then, his dreams were filled with rain, forgotten corridors, and the sound of soft footsteps echoing down empty hallways.
---
To be continued in chapter 3...