"Then let me."
Those were the last words she said.
And somehow, they wouldn't leave.
They echoed in my head, louder than the rain, louder than the announcements, louder than my own heartbeat.
I hadn't answered her. I couldn't.
What was I supposed to say to that?
So I did what I always do. I shut down. Closed my sketchbook. Looked away. Pretended I didn't hear her.
But even with my eyes turned to the glass, I could still feel her — the weight of her presence beside me, the calm rhythm of her breathing, the faint warmth of the umbrella handle still between us.
And the worst part?
I didn't want her to move away.
The storm outside didn't let up. It roared like something alive, drumming against the roof and spilling down the sides of the station in long, shimmering streaks. The lights flickered. The air smelled like wet dust and rust.
I used to like the sound of rain — when I was younger. It used to mean I could stay home, curl up with my sketchbook and draw whatever I wanted. Now it just meant being trapped.
Trapped in noise.
Trapped in thoughts.
Trapped next to this strange, smiling girl who somehow made silence feel too loud.
Rei hadn't said anything since that line. Not a word.
I wasn't sure if she'd given up or if she was waiting.
She didn't feel like someone who gave up.
When I risked a small glance, she was looking at her reflection in the rain-streaked glass. Her smile was gone — replaced by something quieter, almost… thoughtful.
I didn't like that look. It made her seem human.
"Why do you draw?" she asked suddenly.
I blinked. "What?"
Her voice was soft, different from before — not teasing, not light, just curious.
"You said you draw sometimes. But not what, or why. So… why?"
I hesitated. "…It helps me think."
She smiled faintly. "I thought you didn't like thinking."
"That's you, not me."
Rei chuckled. "Fair point."
She turned back toward me, her brown hair slightly frizzed from the humidity, eyes half-lidded but sharp. "So what do you think about when you draw?"
"Everything I don't want to say."
Her eyebrows rose slightly, but she didn't interrupt.
I sighed, eyes fixed on the dripping roof above the tracks. "Drawing's… quieter. It's like putting noise somewhere else. On paper. Away from me."
"Noise," she repeated softly. "You mean feelings."
I glared at her. "Don't act like you understand."
She tilted her head, rainlight catching her cheek. "Maybe I don't. But you just told me anyway."
I blinked. I hadn't even realized I'd said that much.
My throat tightened. "You're insufferable."
"Yep," she said, smiling now. "And yet you're still talking to me."
I rolled my eyes. "That's because you won't shut up."
She laughed, leaning back, one arm stretching behind the bench. "If I stop talking, the silence will eat us both alive."
I wanted to argue — to say that silence was fine, that I liked it — but something about her tone stopped me.
Because I knew exactly what she meant.
The kind of silence that waits for you when you're alone. The kind that crawls up your spine and whispers everything you don't want to remember.
I hated that silence too.
My hands itched for my pencil again, so I reached for the sketchbook in my bag. The cover was damp, slightly warped from the humidity. I flipped to a new page.
This time, I didn't think. I just drew.
Lines flowed easily — the shape of the platform, the outline of the glass, the faint silhouette of a girl holding an umbrella. Rei.
I didn't even realize I was drawing her until she leaned forward and said quietly, "Is that me?"
I froze. "…No."
She grinned. "Liar."
"Shut up."
Her grin widened. "You're blushing."
"I'm not."
"Sure you aren't."
I wanted to throw my pencil at her. Instead, I drew faster. The umbrella, the folds of her uniform, the streaks of rain catching the edge of her hair. My chest felt warm, my fingers shaky.
She watched silently for a while. Then, softly:
"Can I see when it's done?"
I paused. "…Maybe."
"Maybe's good enough," she said, voice low.
I didn't answer. Couldn't. My heart was too loud again.
For a long moment, we just sat there — two strangers caught in a storm that neither of us seemed to mind anymore.
The announcement buzzed again, promising that the train would arrive soon. But for once, I didn't want it to.
Because when it did, I'd have to leave.
And I wasn't ready to.
---
The rain slowed to a drizzle, softening against the roof. People stirred, gathering their bags. The air smelled cleaner now, like the world had been rinsed.
Rei stood up, stretching. "Looks like the storm's done for today."
"Finally," I muttered, closing my sketchbook.
But my fingers lingered on the cover.
She picked up the umbrella, shaking the water off. "Hey, Aya."
I looked up. "What?"
She smiled, holding the umbrella out to me again. "This time, don't say no."
I stared at her — at that infuriating grin, at her messy hair, at the raindrops still clinging to her blazer.
Something in my chest twisted.
"…Fine," I said quietly.
Her eyes softened. "Good."
She held the umbrella over both of us as we stepped out into the silver air. The rain was light now, but the sound of it hitting the ground still echoed.
We walked side by side, the world around us blurred with water and light.
I told myself it was just the weather. That this strange warmth in my chest would fade once the sky cleared.
But as she hummed softly beside me, sharing her umbrella, I knew — deep down — that something had already changed.
And it wasn't the rain.