Ren didn’t know why, but something stirred within him — a restlessness, a pull he couldn’t name. His mother’s gentle humming from the next room faded into the background as he rose, pulled on his hoodie, and stepped outside without a word. The rain greeted him like an old friend, cool against his skin, sliding down his neck. He walked, hands deep in his pockets, letting the storm soak through his clothes. His father’s voice called faintly from behind, but the sound was swallowed by the steady drumming of the rain.

The streets were quiet, the usual chatter of neighbors and the laughter of children absent, as if the whole town had decided to stay indoors and let the storm pass without them. Ren’s sneakers splashed through shallow puddles, his steps carrying him without thought toward the large park that lay between his home and Aoi Fujimura’s. The park, usually alive with voices and motion, stood empty beneath the gray sky, its pathways glistening with water, the stone benches shining like polished silver.

The trees swayed gently in the wind, their leaves and petals heavy with rain. Cherry blossoms clung stubbornly to the branches, though many had surrendered, carpeting the ground in soft pink patches that floated in puddles like fragile boats. The air smelled of wet grass, of flowers and soil and something clean, something pure.

And there, beneath one of the ancient cherry trees at the heart of the park, stood Aoi.

Ren froze, half-hidden behind the trunk of another tree, though he made no effort to conceal himself. His breath caught in his throat, and for a long moment he simply watched, the world narrowing to the girl before him.

Aoi didn’t see him. She stood with her face tilted to the sky, eyes closed, the rain streaming down her cheeks as if it belonged there. The fabric of her uniform clung to her slender frame, her dark hair wet and wild around her shoulders. And then she moved, slowly at first, raising her arms as if to welcome the storm, turning in a small, graceful circle. Her fingers spread, reaching for the sky, and she spun again, water splashing beneath her feet.

Ren felt as if time itself had slowed, as if the rain fell in slow motion, every droplet catching the light, every petal that drifted from the trees frozen in mid-air. His heart beat loud in his ears, louder even than the storm.

She danced as though no one could see her, as though the world had melted away, and there was only her and the rain and the soft hush of the park around her. Ren stood rooted, unable to look away. The cherry tree above her let fall a shower of petals, and they clung to her hair, her shoulders, mingling with the rain until he couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began.

He felt his brow knit, his hands tremble ever so slightly in his pockets. His breath came shallow, as if he were afraid to disturb the fragile beauty of the scene before him.

He didn’t know why, but in that moment, watching her, his chest ached. It was a soft ache, a strange ache, one he didn’t understand. And all he could do was stand there in the rain, as the park held its breath, as the storm wrapped them both in its gentle roar, and wonder why this girl — this quiet, gentle girl — seemed to glow in the rain, as if she belonged to it, as if she had always been a part of it.

The rain continued to fall, steady and endless, and Ren stayed where he was, watching, as the world around him blurred and stilled and waited.