The rain had just begun to fall when Mark first saw her.
She sat alone on a wooden bench at the train station, drenched, her eyes distant as if searching for someone who would never return. Her name was Larry, a girl born into a family of slaves. Her mother had died the day she was born, and her father, Orokom, left her in the care of a servant's house. His last words to her still echoed in her memory
"I'm sorry, my dear. I can't live with you now, but I'll return soon."
But he never did.
Orokom had gone to America to find work, leaving behind his only daughter in Japan. Larry grew up quiet and strong, learning early that love and promises fade like morning mist.
On the other side of the city lived Mark, a boy from a rich but broken family. His parents, Alya and Melto, had been forced into marriage by their families. They lived separately—his father in a grand villa, his mother in a rented apartment.
Mark, only seventeen, carried the loneliness of both homes. He was brilliant in studies, unbeatable in sports, and admired by everyone. But only one person truly knew him—his childhood friend, Ooka.
Everyone called him "the perfect boy." Mark called himself "a boy with no home."
One rainy afternoon, Mark saw the girl again—the one from the station. She looked lost, holding a small umbrella that barely covered her. Without thinking, he approached her and said softly,
"Why are you sitting here in this rain? You'll catch a fever. Take my umbrella."
Before she could reply, he placed it beside her and walked away.
The next day, at Bicom High Secondary School, the teacher introduced a new student.
"This is Larry San, from Tokyo," he announced.
Larry bowed politely and took the seat beside the window—right across from Mark.
The classroom buzzed with whispers. Many boys tried to talk to her, drawn by her beauty. But Larry ignored them all, her eyes buried in a novel.
Moments later, Mark rushed in, late as always.
"Mark," the teacher sighed, "this is your last warning. Take your seat."
Mark nodded, apologizing quickly—and found himself sitting near the same girl he had met in the rain.
During lunch, Ooka yawned beside him.
"Mark, I watched a new romance anime last night—you have to see it!"
Mark chuckled. "You'll never stop watching that stuff, huh?"
Meanwhile, a few girls approached Larry.
"I'm Layla, this is Rose, and that's Meko," one said with a proud smile.
Larry didn't look up. "Nice to meet you. Now, if you don't mind, I'm reading."
Rose frowned. "You think you're too good for us?"
Larry's eyes flashed. "I'm not interested in knowing who you are. Please, leave me alone."
Rose grabbed her arm, but before things escalated, Mark stood up.
"Enough," he said firmly. "In my class, no one fights. Especially girls."
Rose backed off, muttering apologies. Larry sighed, "I told you, I don't want friends."
Mark gave a small smile. "Then I guess I'll just sit quietly beside you."
From that day, their seats were fixed—fifteen and sixteen—side by side.
Days passed. Larry rarely spoke, always reading novels during breaks. One
afternoon, Mark finally asked,
"Do you like reading that much?"
She looked up, surprised. "It's my hobby. What about you?"
He smiled. "Same here. I read one every day.
Larry nodded slightly and went back to her book.
Later that week, Mark asked hesitantly,
"Larry… would you like to watch a movie with me?"
She blinked. "Okay. What time?"
"Four o'clock. We'll be back by seven."
She tilted her head. "But I'm a boring girl, just so you know."
Mark grinned. "Then I'll be bored with you."
At 4 p.m., they met at the bus station. Larry wore a simple white dress, her hair flowing freely in the breeze. Mark wore golden pants and a blue shirt that caught the afternoon sun.
When she arrived, he smiled softly. "You look… beautiful."
She blushed faintly. "Let's just go."
At the theater, Mark said, "I'll get the tickets. Want anything?"
Larry hesitated. "Popcorn and a cold drink, please."
He returned moments later with both, his usual quiet confidence calming her nerves.
The movie was a love story—about a girl who fell for someone she once hated.
At the end, they kissed, promising to stay together forever.
When the lights came back on, Larry sighed. "Such a useless story. We could've watched something about how the Earth was born."
Mark laughed. "You don't like romance?"
"I don't believe in love," she said softly. "It destroys people—their homes, their hearts."
He looked at her, his eyes gentle. "Then let's not talk about it. Not today."
She nodded, relieved.
A few nights later, while returning from work, Larry was cornered by two men on a dark street.
"Hey, pretty girl," one sneered, "come have fun with us."
Before she could react, a voice thundered behind them—
"Let her go!"
It was Mark.
The men laughed. "And who are you supposed to be?"
Mark stepped forward, eyes blazing. "She's the girl I'm going to marry. Touch her again, and I'll end you."
The men froze, then ran off.
Larry turned to him angrily. "I can take care of myself. And don't say things like that—you're not going to marry me."
He looked down, embarrassed. "I'm sorry. I just… didn't know what else to say."
She sighed. "Still… thank you."
They walked in silence until they reached her home.
At her doorstep, she said softly, "It's late. If you want, you can stay here tonight."
He shook his head. "No. I live at the restaurant where I work. I'll rest there."
She smiled faintly. "You're strange, Mark. But when you're with me… I feel safe."
He looked at her for a long moment, then whispered, "Good night, Larry."
As he walked away, she watched him until he disappeared around the corner.
That night, Mark couldn't sleep. He wiped the counter at the restaurant again and again, lost in thought.
"She's just a friend," he told himself. "Nothing more."
But deep inside, he knew—something had already begun to change.