Airi studied the sketch in her hands long after Ren left.
It was raw. Messy. Unlike his usual detailed pieces. His own face, sketched in shadows, half-lost in rain and light. It wasn't just a drawing. It was a confession.
And now it was hers.
The next morning, she caught herself pausing in front of the mirror longer than usual. Fixing her collar. Combing her hair twice. Something in her chest stirred every time she thought about him—about what he might draw next. What he'd seen that she hadn't even seen in herself.
Downstairs, Mika was making breakfast.
Her father was already gone.
"Good morning," Mika said like they were roommates, not strangers pretending to be family.
Airi grabbed her bag. "I'm late."
"You're forty minutes early."
Airi didn't respond. She left.
At school, the air buzzed with pre-exam tension, but none of it reached her. Not when her mind was still stuck on Ren's voice from yesterday.
"You're not the only one hiding in the rain."
She found him on the rooftop during lunch again, sketchbook in hand, headphones in his ears. He didn't see her at first, or maybe he was pretending not to.
She stepped closer, close enough to see the new drawing.
It was of two people standing back-to-back beneath a streetlight—both surrounded by rain, but not touching. Not even looking at each other.
"It's us," she said before she could stop herself.
Ren gave a small nod, pulling out one earbud. "Almost."
"What's missing?"
He turned to her. "We haven't turned around yet."
Something in her chest shifted at that. She sat beside him, knees brushing his.
"I showed your sketch to Yui," she admitted.
He looked startled. "Why?"
"Because I didn't know what to do with it. Because it meant something and I didn't want to be the only one it meant something to."
Ren tilted his head. "What did she say?"
"She asked if we were dating."
His eyes didn't leave her. "And what did you say?"
Airi hesitated. The word no hovered on her lips. But the truth sat heavier than denial.
"I said I didn't know yet."
Silence settled between them again. But this time, it didn't last.
"Do you ever draw things that haven't happened yet?" she asked.
He didn't answer immediately.
Then: "Sometimes. When I hope they will."
Airi looked down at his sketchpad. "Have you ever drawn us… facing each other?"
Ren gave her a look that was half-surprised, half-exposed.
"I started," he said. "But I never finish it."
"Why not?"
"Because I'm afraid the second I finish it, I'll leave."
That truth struck her harder than she expected.
"Is that why you draw everything like it's disappearing?"
He looked down at his hands. "Maybe I just want to remember something the world doesn't let me keep."
The rooftop door slammed open.
Yui poked her head out, squinting at them. "Okay, weird tension aside—Airi, you're wanted in the counselor's office."
"What? Why?"
"Didn't say. Just that it's urgent."
By the time Airi got downstairs, her pulse had picked up. She hadn't done anything—at least, nothing she could think of. But her gut told her this wasn't about school.
Ms. Hanae, the guidance counselor, sat behind her desk with her usual professional smile. But today, her fingers were twisted too tightly together, and her eyes kept flicking to her monitor.
"You're not in trouble," she said quickly. "But I received something this morning that I thought you should be aware of."
She turned the monitor toward Airi.
An email.
From her father.
Subject: Transfer Request — Airi Aozora
Good morning.I'd like to request a school transfer for my daughter, Airi Aozora, due to upcoming relocation.The move is scheduled in three weeks.Please let us know how to proceed with the necessary paperwork.
— Kenji Aozora
Airi's world tilted.
"What… relocation?"
Ms. Hanae frowned. "He didn't tell you?"
"No."
"I assumed you knew. He said the family was moving out of town permanently."
Airi left the office in a haze.
Three weeks.
Her father hadn't said a word.
She wasn't even part of the conversation.
And suddenly, she was the girl in Ren's sketch all over again—standing in the rain with no umbrella and no say in what happened next.
She found Ren at the front gate after school, leaning against the railing, backpack slung low on one shoulder. His sketchbook was tucked beneath his arm, unopened for once.
"I'm moving," she said, the second she saw him.
Ren didn't react. Didn't blink.
"My dad's relocating. I wasn't even told. Just an email. Three weeks."
Still, silence.
Then: "I figured something was coming."
Airi stepped closer. "Why aren't you saying anything?"
"Because I'm trying to decide if I should be selfish."
She froze.
He finally looked at her—eyes sharp, dark, and unbearably honest.
"If I say something now, if I ask you to stay, will you hate me for it?"
Airi's breath caught.
She was trembling. She didn't know why. From the cold, the fear, or the answer forming in her throat.
"You're not the reason I want to run away," she said. "But maybe… maybe you're the reason I want to stay."
Ren stepped forward.
He wasn't smiling.
But his eyes said everything.
Then the sky opened again.
Rain.
No umbrella.
And they didn't move.