The bakery was quieter than usual that morning, not because of a lack of customers, but because Natsumi had made a surprising announcement: "Haruka, you’ve been working hard. Take the day off. Go explore."

Haruka had blinked, wondering if she'd heard right. She wasn't used to being given time without having to earn it, without strings or implicit expectations. Still, she nodded slightly and whispered, "Thank you."

And so, for the first time since coming to this small town, Haruka stepped out not to run errands, not to fetch something for the bakery, but just to walk.

The sky was overcast, thick with the sort of clouds that would bring rain. She wandered without purpose, following thin trails that led behind old houses and fences grown over with shrubs. The wind tugged gently on the hem of her coat, as if guiding her.

Haruka went to the riverbank, watching the water curve and foam around the rocks. The plum blossoms were now fuller and danced softly in the breeze. She reached out to touch one, her hand hovering. It looked so delicate, and yet it held so fast to its branch.

Then the first drop fell.

It touched her wrist, cold and soft. And another, and another—until the rain started in earnest. Haruka blinked upwards at the sky, the sprinkles giving way to something more continuous. She stuffed her hands into her pockets and made a run for the nearest available shelter: a small bus stop up the hill.

The bench was metal and damp, although the roof kept most of the rain out. She sat down, hair already damp at the ends, and gazed out into the world's blur through the rain.

Then she heard it—the recognizable hum of a scooter.

Kaito.

He slowed down as he reached the stop, one hand already coming up in a half-wave. His helmet was tilted at an angle, and rain was spotted across his jacket. He silently pulled to the side of the road and walked toward her.

He pulled out an umbrella from the tiny compartment behind his seat.

He did not offer it to her.

Instead, he opened it, shifted underneath, and tilted it just enough that the edge protected both of them. The action was silent. Instinctual. He didn't ask her what she was doing out here. He didn't scold her for not having her own.

He just stood there with her in the rain.

After a moment, she stood as well.

They walked, the umbrella swinging between them. But it was small, and their shoulders brushed as they moved. The rain kept coming down, trickling down sleeves, seeping under collars, soaking their shoes. Haruka gave up trying to avoid the puddles eventually.

Kaito's laugh broke the silence. "This umbrella's not much good, is it?"

Haruka looked at him, surprised. He was smiling, actually smiling, with rain clinging to his eyelashes.

And before she knew it, she laughed too.

It wasn't long or loud, but it was real. Something about the silliness of it all—their half-wet, half-dry state, the umbrella that didn't quite fit over them both, the fact that she hadn't exactly intended any of this—made her chest feel a little lighter.

For once, she wasn't waiting for the rain to stop.

She was walking through it with someone who did not mind getting a little wet.

They were both wet to the knee by the time they had reached a covered arcade. Kaito shook his sleeves in a big gesture, water flying everywhere. Haruka laughed again, jumping away, and this time she did not hold back.

They just stood for a bit, catching their breath. The rain was still coming down, but the world was warmer.

Kaito stood before her, still smiling. "So, day off, huh? You picked a good one."

She looked at him, eyes soft. "Yeah. I guess I did."

Nothing more was said. They didn't need to.

Some things, after all, were best felt in silence—such as how shared rain could feel like shared shelter. Or such as how laughter could feel like healing.

Or how a walk might feel like the beginning of something new and gentle.