SHINTA:

"Are you okay?" I called out, concern threading through my voice as I hurried toward her, hand outstretched to help her up.

"Yes, thank you," she mumbled, keeping her gaze fixed on the glistening pavement, raindrops sliding down her flushed cheeks.

"If you don't mind me asking, why are you on the ground out in the rain? You'll get sick like that," I questioned, my tone firming as I positioned the umbrella over her head. The protective gesture left several inches between us—enough that the rain now pelted my shoulders and back, soaking through my uniform jacket.

"A kid ran into me from behind," she explained, her voice soft, barely audible above the drumming rain. "I fell, and he took my umbrella and ran with it."

Her eyes finally lifted to mine, a gentle vulnerability in them as they widened slightly. "Here, you're getting wet because of me." She stepped forward, closing the gap between us until I could feel her warmth radiating against my rain-chilled skin.

I held the umbrella above both of our heads, a small, grateful smile touching her lips as we stood there. I was speechless, didn't know what to do or how to react. The sudden awareness of our proximity, of how close we were, the scent of her rain-dampened hair—something like spring flowers—made my thoughts scatter.

My pulse thundered in my ears as I stammered, "I should, uh... go look for the kid that took your umbrella. Do you remember what he looked like?" I ended with a nervous chuckle, taking a step back to reclaim some distance and a bit of my sanity back.

But right before I could escape, her hand shot out, fingers grasping my shirt with unexpected determination. The sudden tug pulled me forward, eliminating what little space I'd created between us. My breath caught as she pulled herself even closer than before.

Time seemed to slow as she tilted her face upward, raindrops clinging to her eyelashes like tiny crystals. The streetlight above cast a soft halo around her head, highlighting each delicate feature as she looked directly into my eyes with an intensity that rooted me to the spot.

I could feel my face boiling, heat rushing from my collar to my forehead, heart thrashed against my ribs so violently I was certain she could hear it. My throat constricted, leaving my mouth desert-dry. I couldn't look away—my muscles refused to obey basic commands, leaving me trapped in her gaze.

It was the first time I'd seen Aya's face so close up. She was beautiful in a way that made my stomach drop like I'd missed a step on a staircase. Her short, wavy brown hair practically glowed from the moonlight reflecting off its wet strands, each droplet catching the light like tiny stars. Her skin was pure and shining, rainwater tracing delicate paths down her cheeks that my eyes couldn't help but follow.

The reason I was frozen in place, why my fingertips tingled with a strange electricity, was her vibrant amber eyes—like two vast galaxies looking deep into my soul. The tiny flecks of gold in her irises seemed to pulse with each ragged breath I took.

"It's okay, he can have it," she declared, a genuine smile blooming across her face, transforming her rain-streaked features. "He probably needed it more than I did if he had to take it from me, so he can have it," she insisted, the smile never wavering as she tucked a damp strand of hair behind her ear.

Something in her expression made me pause—a flash of compassion behind her eyes that seemed to come from personal experience. I remembered the rumors about her family's financial struggles after her father left, how she'd worn the same coat for three winters in a row despite being popular enough to normally care about such things.

Her eyes sparkled with unexpected mischief as she added, "And plus, I have yours now, so I don't need it." A teasing laugh escaped her lips, the sound surprisingly musical against the backdrop of rainfall, warming the air between us. She nudged my shoulder playfully. "Your umbrella's bigger anyway. Much better quality too. I think I got the better end of this deal, don't you?"

"Hey, it's not yours—I'm only sharing it with you," I retorted, a reluctant grin tugging at my lips despite my attempt at sarcasm.

I was surprised—not just at her generous response to the thief, but at the strange warmth spreading through my chest despite the cold rain seeping into my clothes. I'd seen other girls at school dissolve into tears over much smaller losses, yet here was Aya, standing in the rain without her umbrella, still finding reasons to smile.

More surprising was my own reaction. I was actually enjoying someone else's presence; all my nervousness had vanished, and I felt like I could be myself around her. Usually, conversations were mazes I couldn't navigate—each word a potential trap, each silence an abyss. But with Aya, words flowed naturally, as if we'd known each other for years. I wanted to just stay like this forever.

Then reality hit me. We were standing in the middle of the sidewalk at night, and a distant siren wailed somewhere in the city's depths. The rain was seeping through my uniform completely, and I noticed Aya beginning to shiver despite her cheerful demeanor. Her wet clothes clung to her petite frame, and I suddenly felt responsible for getting her somewhere dry and safe.

"I'm sorry, it's getting late, and your folks are probably worried about you. I should walk you home; that way, you'll get home safe and I'll get my umbrella back," I said with a light smile, already planning the route to her neighborhood in my head.

Around us, the city had transformed into a glistening landscape of reflections. Streetlamps cast wavering columns of light across puddles that mirrored the darkening sky. The rain drummed a steady rhythm against my umbrella, occasionally interrupted by the splash of distant footsteps or the muffled rumble of passing cars, their headlights smeared like watercolors through the downpour. The cold had sharpened every smell—wet concrete, rusted metal from nearby drainage grates, and the sweet, earthy scent that always accompanied heavy rain. Somewhere, a shopkeeper was closing metal shutters, the clanging echoing between buildings.

"I only live with my mother, and she works late shifts at the hospital," she murmured, her voice softening as her gaze dropped momentarily to the wet pavement. A gentle smile tugged at the corner of her lips. "She's helping people, though. That's what matters." I caught the flicker of something—not just sadness, but resignation—that crossed her features before her smile reappeared, brighter than before but somehow less convincing.

"And..." she hesitated, suddenly fascinated by a puddle near her feet, "that kid also took my purse, and it had my keys in it."

The revelation hit me like a splash of cold water. This wasn't just about a stolen umbrella—she was completely stranded.

She rubbed the back of her head, keeping that silly smile plastered on her face while her eyes darted everywhere but my direction. Despite her apparent nonchalance, I noticed her fingers tightening around the hem of her uniform jacket—the only tell that perhaps losing her possessions bothered her more than she let on. Showing distress wasn't a luxury she allowed herself.

It struck me then that being locked out might not be an unusual occurrence for her. The way she handled this crisis suggested nights spent waiting in stairwells or convenience stores until her mother returned—a routine rather than an emergency. For someone so young, she seemed remarkably practiced at navigating life's difficulties with a smile.

"Huh, are you serious?" I sputtered, my voice caught between irritation and concern. "That seems like pretty important information to leave out." I grunted. "So that kid was a thief then, and you knew it all along?"

Still avoiding eye contact, she stuck her tongue to the side, a dimple appearing on her cheek as she rubbed the back of her head once again. The raindrops falling between us couldn't dampen her cheerful demeanor as she chuckled softly, shoulders lifting in an innocent shrug.

I watched her standing there—drenched but smiling—and my irritation faded. What options did she have? The rain was worsening, and the temperature was dropping. I couldn't just leave her with nowhere to go.

"There's no use now." I released a defeated sigh, shoulders slumping as I studied the puddles forming around our feet. "I live alone with my dad, and he's out of town. You can spend the night at my place."

Her face lit up as soon as I said that, like sunshine breaking through storm clouds. I was happy to see her excitement, but yet again surprised at myself. Me—a loner—inviting someone over to my house to spend the night, and what's more, it's my crush? I brushed off the thought as Aya started talking.

"YES, I'd love to!" she cheered loudly. "I thought you'd never ask," she teased with that smile of hers. "Is the mysterious loner finally warming up to me?" She playfully nudged my arm with her elbow, her eyes twinkling with mischief despite the rain. I grunted and looked down at her with a frown, which she found endearingly amusing.

My house was close by in the old Westbridge district, but the walk home was tense. The city's usual neon glow was muted by the downpour, the famous glass towers of the financial district reduced to hazy silhouettes against the night sky. Rain sliced sideways as the wind whipped through the empty streets, their cobblestones slick and treacherous underfoot.

We hurried past the shuttered storefronts of the city. Twice we had to detour around flooded intersections. And once, a group of shadowy figures watched us from an alleyway, their cigarettes glowing like malevolent eyes in the darkness.

"Hey, look what we've got here," a rough voice called out, followed by the splash of footsteps as one of them stepped toward us.