It started with a sketch.
Not a word, not a glance—just the soft scratch of pencil on paper and the quiet patter of rain against the classroom window. Airi almost didn't notice it, not until the teacher's droning voice faded into a dull background hum and her gaze drifted toward the boy at the back of the room.
Ren Takahashi. Quiet. Distant. Always sketching when no one was watching.
Except she was watching.
The image on his page wasn't of anything in the room. It was the street outside, rendered in delicate graphite lines, every puddle and glint of lamplight captured with eerie accuracy. In the center of it stood a girl—shoulders hunched, umbrella closed, as if she wanted to be caught in the downpour.
It was her.
Airi felt her chest tighten. That couldn't be a coincidence.
The final bell rang, snapping her out of it. Chairs scraped back. Voices rose. Books slammed shut.
Ren closed his sketchpad and left without a word.
He hadn't looked at her once.
By the time Airi stepped out into the hallway, her best friend Yui had already latched onto her arm.
"You spacing out again? Or were you watching your mysterious art crush?" Yui grinned, tugging Airi toward the stairs.
"I wasn't watching him," Airi muttered, which wasn't technically a lie.
"Right. You were staring—there's a difference."
Airi ignored her, trying to keep her thoughts from circling back to that drawing. It wasn't the first time she'd caught Ren sketching something oddly specific. Once it had been the vending machine corner where she cried after a phone call from her father. Another time, it had been her reading alone on the rooftop.
She'd never told anyone about those moments.
So how did he know?
The rain picked up after school. Airi stood beneath the overhang outside the front gates, pretending to scroll through her phone while her classmates scattered under umbrellas and laughter.
She hadn't brought hers.
Again.
"Why don't you just start checking the weather like a normal person?" Yui asked, popping open her yellow umbrella.
"Because rain isn't always a bad thing."
Yui rolled her eyes. "You say that now, but if you get pneumonia again, I'm not covering your notes."
She left with a wink, vanishing into the silver haze of drizzle.
Airi stood there a while longer, listening to the rhythm of rain on pavement. There was something soothing about it—cleansing, almost. As if the world slowed down just enough for her to breathe.
Then a voice behind her cut through the quiet.
"You'll get sick."
She turned.
Ren stood there, holding an umbrella over her head. He wasn't looking at her, of course—his gaze was slightly off-center, like he was talking to the rain instead.
"You keep doing that," he added. "Waiting here like you want it to find you."
Airi blinked. "The rain?"
He nodded.
"I like the sound of it," she said cautiously.
"I thought so," he replied. "You always look the calmest when it rains."
Her breath hitched.
"Were you… drawing me today?"
Silence. Then: "I didn't think you'd notice."
"So it was me."
He hesitated, then turned his head just slightly—just enough for their eyes to meet, if only for a moment.
"I only draw what I can't say out loud."
They walked side by side through the drizzle, the umbrella small enough that their arms brushed occasionally. Airi didn't know what to say, or even what she wanted from this conversation. But the silence between them didn't feel awkward—it felt fragile, like a bridge neither of them had dared to cross until now.
"Why me?" she asked quietly. "You barely know me."
"You sit three rows ahead. You eat strawberry pocky when you're nervous. You read poetry during lunch, even when people make fun of you for it. And you always pause before you open a door, like you're not sure what's on the other side."
Airi stopped walking.
Ren stopped, too, umbrella still held over her.
"That's not an answer," she said.
"I don't draw people I don't see," he said softly. "And I see you."
The rain blurred the world around them, muting colors, softening edges. Airi's heart was racing now—too fast, too loud. She wasn't used to this kind of vulnerability, especially not from someone like him.
"Do you… draw other people like that?" she asked, unsure why she needed to know.
Ren shook his head.
"I used to."
"What changed?"
He looked at her then, really looked. His eyes were dark and unreadable, but not cold.
"You did."
By the time they reached her street, the rain had slowed to a light drizzle. The umbrella wasn't necessary anymore, but neither of them moved to close it.
Airi opened her mouth to say something, but her phone buzzed.
A message from her dad.
Need you home early. Big news.
Her stomach turned.
Ren noticed. "Everything okay?"
She forced a smile. "Yeah. Just… family stuff."
"You sure?"
"Yeah."
But her voice betrayed her.
As she turned to leave, Ren reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a folded piece of sketch paper.
"I was going to throw it away," he said, handing it to her. "But I thought maybe you'd want it."
She unfolded it slowly.
It was the same sketch from class—but there was something new in the corner now. A second figure, just behind the girl in the rain. Holding an umbrella over both of them.
Airi looked up, but Ren was already walking away.
She stood there, soaked in the fading rain, fingers trembling slightly around the sketch.
It wasn't the rain that made her shiver.
It was the feeling that everything was about to change.
And maybe—for once—she was ready.