The monsoon had returned, washing the city in silver mist.
College corridors smelled faintly of wet paper and coffee.
Aiyumi stayed back after class, finishing an art submission in the empty studio.
Outside, thunder rolled softly — a familiar rhythm she'd always liked.
Rain felt peaceful to her… until memories started to mix in with it.
Ren.
The fights.
The silence.
The unsaid words.
By the time she packed up, the downpour had turned heavy.
She sighed — no umbrella again.
When she reached the college gate, she saw him —
Ren — standing near his bike, rain dripping off his hair.
He wasn't waiting for her, or at least, that's what he'd claim.
But somehow, he always ended up there.
Their eyes met for a second.
No words.
Just quiet recognition — the kind that said, "You're still here."
"Hop on," he said finally, without looking at her.
She hesitated. "I can walk—"
"Don't argue." His tone was calm, almost gentle.
They rode through the rain in silence,
the road reflecting city lights like a broken mirror.
Halfway home, the rain got heavier.
Ren pulled over under an old tree —
the same one they used to stop at as kids.
They waited, water dripping from the branches above them.
Aiyumi laughed softly.
"Do you remember this place?"
He nodded. "You once said this tree looked like a giant guardian."
She smiled, eyes distant.
"Yeah. Back when we thought everything would stay the same."
He looked at her, rain blurring his expression.
"Nothing really stays," he said quietly. "People just learn how to carry the old parts."
For a while, neither spoke.
Then she whispered,
"Sometimes I wish I could start over… before all the fights, before everything broke."
Ren turned to her slowly.
"If you did," he said, "I'd still find you again.
This time, I wouldn't let a misunderstanding take you away."
Her heart tightened.
The rain fell harder — soft, endless, cleansing.
Aiyumi's voice trembled.
"You promise?"
Ren smiled faintly — that rare, gentle smile that always undid her.
"I don't make promises," he said, "but maybe some things… are meant to return."
That night, when Aiyumi opened her sketchbook,
a drop of rain had blurred her latest drawing —
a boy and girl under a single umbrella.
She traced the lines softly with her finger,
and whispered to herself,
"Then I'll wait… even if it's just as a memory."
💭 Both were still caught in silence —
not lovers, not strangers —
but two souls that destiny wasn't ready to separate yet.