Chapter 1: The Piano Beneath the Rain
Riko had always known what it felt like to be unnoticed.
It wasn't that she wasn't liked—people smiled at her in the halls, teachers greeted her with gentle nods, and her classmates were kind enough. But it was as if she was a shadow, always in the background, never quite seen for who she truly was. The person she longed to be. The musician.
The piano, tucked away in the corner of her room, had been her companion for as long as she could remember.
Her fingers knew its keys like old friends. But music had become something she could only dream about—dreams that were pushed to the back of her mind as soon as the morning alarm rang.
Her family, particularly her mother, had other plans. The store needed her help. Her younger siblings needed her guidance. And, somehow, music—her first love—had become a luxury she could no longer afford.
The steady rhythm of her life kept her grounded: wake up early, help her mother set up the shop, go to school, study hard, and return home to help again.
Somehow she still managed to find time to visit the music store at the edge of town.
She was there so frequently that the staff there already considered her family.
No one asked Riko what she wanted. No one ever saw her pause, breathe, and wonder if there was something more beyond the duties she shouldered.
On that particular afternoon, the world outside seemed as grey as the feelings swirling inside her. The sky was thick with clouds, heavy with the promise of rain.
Riko stood by the store window, watching the distant dark clouds roll in, the air thick with moisture. She had always found comfort in the rain. It felt like a signal—an invitation to something bigger, something quieter, something more her.
And then she heard it.
A sound. Soft at first, then louder, unmistakable—the unmistakable sound of piano keys being played in a way she hadn't heard in years.
Her heart jumped. She turned sharply, her pulse quickening. She didn't know how long she'd been standing there, but when she glanced at the clock, she realized she had just a few minutes before she had to leave for the store.
The piano had been silent for weeks. There was no time to play. No time for what truly mattered.
But today… today was different.
Her fingers moved on their own accord, heading straight for the worn-out keys.
Riko sat down at the piano, the coolness of the keys sending a familiar chill up her fingers.
She closed her eyes for a moment, letting the soft hum of the rain outside fill the space around her.
Her mother's voice echoed in her mind, reminding her of the day's chores, the work that would keep her from playing. But none of that mattered now.
With a deep breath, her fingers pressed down on the keys.
The melody started slow, tentative, like the start of a conversation that had been left unfinished for too long.
The music built, rising and falling with the rain, until it seemed as though the storm outside and the one inside her heart were in perfect harmony.
She lost herself in the notes, just for a few minutes. Just for a few minutes, she could pretend that this was all she needed—no obligations, no responsibilities. Just her and the piano.
But the doorbell to the shop downstairs rang, a harsh interruption to her moment of peace.
Riko sighed, her fingers halting mid-chord.
She knew the rain would only last a little longer. She had to help her mother.
She reluctantly stood up from the piano bench, but not before she cast one last longing glance at the instrument, its strings still humming with the echo of the music she had just played.
As she hurried down the stairs, she didn't expect to see anyone outside, the rain falling too hard for any sensible person to be out.
But to her surprise, there was a man standing at the door—his back to her, looking out into the rain with a thoughtful expression.
He wore a long, weathered coat, and his hair was dark and wild from the damp weather. He looked almost like someone who didn't belong in this neighborhood, his presence a stark contrast to the small, quiet world of her family's shop.
She cleared her throat to get his attention, and he turned toward her. His face was kind but also guarded, like someone who had spent too much time learning not to trust anyone.
"Can I help you?" she asked, her voice small, as though she were the one interrupting something important.
The man blinked, startled for a moment, then smiled. It was a soft smile—almost sad, but not in an unkind way.
Riko's eyebrows furrowed slightly. There was something about him that felt… out of place.
But he didn't seem dangerous, just a traveler caught in the storm.
She stepped aside, gesturing for him to come in.
The man entered, his damp coat dripping a bit onto the floor as he removed it, revealing a black T-shirt and jeans. He looked around the shop with a mix of curiosity and comfort, like he was familiar with small, cozy spaces but hadn't found one in a while.
Riko didn't expect to see a customer today, but the man's presence somehow felt different. He didn't seem like someone just passing through. He seemed lost, almost like he was searching for something, but unsure of what.
He looked over at the piano, his eyes softening just a little.
Riko caught the shift in his gaze and, before she could stop herself, said, "The piano's been quiet for a while. It's been… hard to find time for it lately."
The man tilted his head slightly, a curious expression flickering across his face.
"You play?" he asked, as if the question was both an observation and an invitation.
She hesitated, then nodded. "A bit."
"Do you mind if I play?" he asked, his tone more casual than she expected.
"It's been a long time since I've had the chance."
Riko stared at him for a moment, feeling the weight of her own unspoken thoughts—the dreams that seemed so far away, the parts of her she kept buried beneath layers of obligation. She barely knew this man, yet she could see something in his eyes, a quiet understanding, that made her feel like it was okay to say yes.
"Go ahead," she said softly, stepping aside to let him approach the piano.
The man sat down with ease, his fingers brushing lightly over the keys before he began to play. It wasn't anything elaborate—just a simple melody, but it was gentle, and there was a sadness in it that she couldn't quite place.
For a few minutes, Riko just listened. The music was raw and real in a way that made her feel something she hadn't in a long time—a pull in her chest, a recognition of something buried deep within her.
When the music stopped, he stood up and turned toward her.
"Thank you," he said quietly, as though the music had been more of a conversation than a performance. "It's been a while since I've let myself do that."
Riko nodded, unsure of what to say next. She didn't want to break the quiet magic that had filled the room.
He gave her a small, almost imperceptible smile. "I'm Shunya, by the way. I own the shop."
Riko's eyes widened in surprise before she quickly bowed.
"I'm sorry. I didn't know you were the shop owner. Please forgive my ignorance."
"It's fine. I probably didn't act like it".
Shunya's fingers brushed lightly against the keys again, as if he were considering playing something else. But instead, he paused and stood up, turning back toward Riko with an expression that was both curious and thoughtful.
"You know, it's not often that people come in here just to listen to the music," he said, almost to himself. "Most are here for something else—maybe a quick escape from the outside world."
Riko watched him closely. There was a quiet depth to him, something more than just the stranger in front of her. His presence seemed to fill the space around them in a way she hadn't expected. She felt as though she were seeing him for the first time, despite his being here for only a few minutes.
"Sometimes... it's not the escape that people need," Riko replied, her voice softer now, more reflective.
"Maybe it's the chance to reconnect. With something... or someone."
Shunya raised an eyebrow, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips.
"Reconnecting, huh? Sounds like you've been thinking about that a lot."
Riko's heart skipped at how easily he had understood. She wasn't sure how to respond.
The silence between them grew, but it wasn't uncomfortable. It was the kind of quiet that felt natural, like a pause before the next note in a melody.
"You've been playing piano for a while?" Shunya asked, breaking the silence.
His voice was gentle, but the question was probing, as though he was trying to understand her in a way that went beyond just surface conversation.
Riko hesitated, biting her lip. She wanted to answer, wanted to tell him how much the piano meant to her, but there was a lingering fear—fear of being misunderstood, of being too vulnerable.
"I used to... a lot," she said after a moment, her gaze dropping to the worn keys of the piano.
"But it's been hard to make time for it. Life keeps... getting in the way."
Shunya nodded, his expression unreadable for a moment before he spoke again.
"I get it. Life has a way of doing that, doesn't it? But sometimes, the best parts of life are the ones that seem the least practical."
Riko looked up at him, surprised by his words.
There was something about them that struck a chord inside her, something she hadn't heard before.
For a moment, she allowed herself to let go of her reservations and said, "I think music is the only thing that's ever felt... right. Like it's where I belong."
Shunya's eyes softened.
"Then don't let it go."
Riko felt the weight of his words settle on her, like a quiet promise that she didn't know how to keep. She stood there for a moment, unsure whether to say anything else, but the moment passed, and the faint sound of the rain tapping against the windows drew her attention again.
"Can I ask you something?" she said suddenly, feeling a bit braver now that the conversation had shifted.
Shunya turned to her, his expression welcoming. "Sure, ask away."
"Why did you open this shop?" Riko asked.
"You said you used to play... Why not do something more with it? You could teach. You could be... something bigger, right?"
He looked away for a moment, the light in the room catching the thoughtful expression on his face. It was clear that the question had caught him off guard.
He sighed, running a hand through his damp hair.
"I guess I was trying to escape, too," he said quietly, almost under his breath.
"I thought I could outrun everything—my past, the expectations, the heartbreak. But in the end, I found that running doesn't really help. So I opened this place... not to escape, but to make some kind of peace with it all. To make something real out of the pieces I had left."
Riko didn't know what to say at first. She hadn't expected such an honest response.
She thought he'd brush it off, but instead, he gave her a glimpse into a past she couldn't fully understand, but that somehow felt familiar.
"You've made something real here," she said softly, glancing around the shop. "Maybe it's small, but... it feels like it matters."
Shunya gave her a small, almost wistful smile.
"Maybe it does," he said. "Maybe it's the small things that matter the most. They can add up in ways we don't realize until it's too late."
The rain outside had started to soften, the sound now a gentle murmur rather than the relentless pounding it had been earlier.
The dim light inside the shop made the room feel warm and inviting, a contrast to the storm that still raged in the city beyond.
Riko looked back at the piano, her fingers itching to play again. The quiet moments between her and Shunya had unlocked something in her, something that had been buried deep.
She had spent so much time denying what mattered to her, but now—sitting in this small, unassuming music shop with a stranger who seemed to understand more than anyone—she could finally feel it.
The pull. The call of the music.
"I should go," she said suddenly, breaking the silence that had settled between them.
Shunya raised an eyebrow, but there was no objection in his voice. "Yeah, I get it. I'm sure you've got responsibilities to get back to."
Riko nodded. "Yeah. My mom... she'll wonder where I am."
Before she left, she turned back to the piano and then hesitated.
"Thanks for letting me play," she said, her voice quieter now, almost shy.
"It meant a lot."
Shunya gave her a small, knowing nod.
"You're welcome. You can always come back. Anytime you want to play."
And as she stepped out into the rain once more, the sound of the piano still lingering in her mind, Riko felt something shift within her.
She didn't know what the future held, but for the first time in a long while, she felt like maybe—just maybe—she could find a way to follow the music again.
The rain had finally stopped by the time Riko left the shop. The thick clouds had begun to break, letting in patches of pale blue sky.
She could hear the distant hum of the city around her, but there was a stillness inside her that hadn't been there before.
The soft echo of the piano's last note still reverberated in her chest, and she couldn't shake the feeling that she had just discovered something precious—something she might lose if she didn't hold onto it tightly.
Her footsteps were slower now, more deliberate, as if she were savoring the moment of quiet.
The storm had cleared, but the air still felt heavy with the weight of something unsaid, something unacknowledged.
As she walked through the streets, her thoughts kept drifting back to Shunya and the music.
She had told herself that she would only visit the shop once. It had been an impulsive decision to go inside, to play her heart out for just a moment of freedom.
But now, she couldn't stop wondering: What if she went back?
What if the music—no, the escape—was exactly what she needed to move forward?
The thought clung to her as she turned the corner and headed home.
Her mother's voice, sharp and ever-present, was already drifting into her thoughts.
"You need to focus on the future, Riko. Music won't put food on the table."
The guilt hit her again, like a physical weight pressing against her chest.
She paused in front of the small, familiar house, the place that had always been home.
But it no longer felt like a sanctuary.
It felt like a cage.
Later that evening, Riko sat at the kitchen table, her plate of food untouched as her mind wandered back to the music shop.
She had always tried to ignore the longing she felt whenever she saw a piano or heard a piece of music that struck too close to home.
But now, with Shunya's gentle encouragement still fresh in her mind, the yearning felt impossible to ignore.
"Riko," her mother's voice cut through the silence, "how's school going? You're not getting distracted with your piano again, are you?"
Riko forced a smile and picked up her fork, the clink of metal on plate filling the quiet room.
"It's fine, Mum. Just busy."
Her mother didn't seem convinced, but didn't press further. Instead, she glanced at the clock.
"You're not going to stay out late again, are you? You know your father's been stressed at work lately. He needs you here, helping with the store."
Riko's stomach twisted. She couldn't remember the last time she had a real conversation with her mother—one that didn't revolve around responsibilities. But she didn't have the energy to fight it tonight.
"I'll stay here, Mum. Don't worry."
Her mother gave a small nod, satisfied for the moment, and returned to sorting through papers.
Riko's heart sank, but she didn't have the strength to argue.
She had always been the one to hold the family together, the one who kept things running smoothly.
And yet, no one seemed to notice the parts of herself she had given up in the process.
Music, her dreams, her quiet moments of peace—they were always set aside, always pushed into the corners of her mind until she couldn't bear to think about them anymore.
But tonight, for the first time in a long while, she couldn't push them away.