The storm didn't let up. If anything, it grew louder, hammering against the station roof like it wanted to break through. I kept my eyes on my sketchbook, pretending to add lines that didn't need to exist, anything to avoid looking at the girl still sitting far too close.
Rei.
Her name echoed in my head, like the thunder outside.
She hadn't moved since sitting down. Didn't fidget. Didn't shift away. Just leaned back, arms stretched across the bench as though she belonged here. Raindrops still clung to her uniform, but she didn't seem to notice or care.
"You don't talk much, do you?" she asked suddenly.
I tightened my grip on the pencil. "…Why would I?"
"Because it's raining. Because the train's late. Because we're stuck here. I don't know—most people talk to fill silence."
"I'm not most people."
Her laugh slipped out again, careless and bright. "Yeah. I figured."
I glanced at her. That grin was still there, but softer this time, less of a weapon. It unnerved me.
"…Why do you keep smiling like that?" I muttered.
She blinked, almost surprised. "Like what?"
"Like… like nothing bothers you. Like you're not soaked to the bone."
She tilted her head, thinking. "Because if I don't smile, I'll start thinking too much."
That answer sat heavy between us. I wanted to ask thinking about what, but my throat refused. Instead, I looked back down, tracing a line that wasn't supposed to be in the sketch.
"You're weird," I said finally.
"I'll take that as a compliment."
I clicked my tongue. "It wasn't."
She leaned a little closer, elbow brushing the edge of my sketchbook. "What about you, Aya? Why do you draw storms?"
I froze. "…I don't."
"You do." Her voice was calm, certain. "I saw the sketch. That wasn't just rain. That was… something heavier."
My chest tightened. I shut the book.
"It's none of your business."
"Maybe not." She leaned back again, but her eyes didn't leave me. "But people don't draw storms unless they feel them."
The words dug under my skin. Too sharp. Too true. I wanted to snap at her, tell her she was wrong, but the pencil in my hand trembled, and I knew she'd see it.
I shoved the sketchbook into my bag. "You talk too much."
She laughed softly. "And you hide too much."
I bit the inside of my cheek, refusing to answer.
The storm cracked loud enough to shake the glass panels above us. A group of commuters cursed under their breath and shuffled further down the platform. The announcement repeated the delay, robotic and indifferent.
Rei sighed, tilting her head back to stare at the ceiling. "We could be here all night."
"Then stop talking," I muttered.
"But if I stop talking, I'll think too much," she said again, teasing this time.
I almost smiled. Almost. I hated that she had that effect.
Silence stretched. For a moment, it was just rain and the faint scratch of my pencil returning to paper. Then Rei shifted.
She pulled something from her bag—an umbrella, still folded and dripping wet. She twirled it in her hand.
"Want it?"
I frowned. "…Why would I want your umbrella?"
"Because you'll get soaked going home. And you don't look like the type who remembers to carry one."
She wasn't wrong. But I didn't want her to know that.
"I'll manage."
She studied me for a long second, then shrugged. "Suit yourself."
She set the umbrella between us, leaning it against the bench.
I stared at it, refusing to touch it. My chest felt weird—tight, like the rain had crawled under my skin.
"…You don't even know me," I muttered.
"I know your name," she said easily. "That's a start."
"That's not knowing me."
She glanced at me, her grin fading just slightly.
"Then let me."
The words hit harder than the thunder. My pencil stilled on the page.
I didn't answer. I couldn't.
So I just kept drawing, lines blurring under my shaky hand, as the storm raged on.