Rain always comes without asking permission.
Like memories that surface suddenly when someone is trying hard to forget them.
Nara stood under an old bus stop with a faintly flickering light, clutching a shabby bag—the only possession she had brought from her former life. This city felt alien, cold, and too vast for someone who wasn't even sure she wanted to stay alive in it.
Rainwater dripped from the tips of her hair, seeping through the collar of her thin jacket, which no longer held back the chill. People rushed past without glancing over, busy with their own worlds. She liked that. No one cared, which meant no one asked questions.
And no questions meant no lies she had to tell.
A dark sky hung low, making the entire city feel like a cramped, airless room. Nara stared at the wet streets reflecting vehicle lights like scattered shards of glass. She had no idea where to go after this. She only knew one thing—she could not go back.
Her phone vibrated in her pocket.
The name that appeared made her chest tighten.
She turned off the screen without reading the message. Again.
"If you run away, you will only break more," that voice echoed in her head.
She took a deep breath, trying to suppress the guilt that always arrived like a shadow inseparable from her body.
A black car stopped at a red light not far from the bus stop. The engine roared softly, its glass windows fogged by the rain. From where she stood, she could feel someone watching her. The sensation made her skin crawl—not out of fear, but as if eyes were trying to read her mind.
Nara did not look over.
She was too tired to care.
Yet, a few seconds later, the sound of footsteps approaching broke through the noise of the rain. Heavy, calm, and too confident. Finally, she lifted her head.
A man stood a few meters away from her, a black umbrella open above his head. His face was calm, almost expressionless. His gaze was sharp but not harsh—like someone who had long learned to hide a storm behind a thin smile.
"Standing out here soaked like that will make you sick," he said quietly.
Nara did not answer. She turned her face away, hoping the conversation would end before it even began.
The man did not leave.
He stepped closer, noticing the small suitcase beside Nara's feet. "New to this city?"
No answer.
The rain grew heavier, the sound of water hitting the bus stop roof like thousands of fingers tapping relentlessly. The man exhaled softly, then stood beside her without getting too close.
"I'm Arsen," he finally said. "And you look like someone who doesn't have a place to go home to tonight."
That sentence stung deeper than it should have.
Nara lifted her eyes, staring at him coldly. "Do you always talk to strangers like this?"
"No." Arsen smiled faintly. "Only to those who look like they want to disappear."
That answer made her chest tighten. She did not like people who could read her mind too quickly.
"If you want money or something, I have nothing," Nara replied curtly.
Arsen shook his head slowly. "I don't need anything from you."
The statement sounded honest. And for some reason, honesty from a stranger felt more terrifying than an obvious lie.
The bus stop light died for a moment, then flickered back on. In that brief flash, Nara saw something in Arsen's eyes—not sympathy, not pity. Something deeper. Something that knew destruction all too well.
"I just don't like seeing someone standing alone like that," Arsen continued.
He opened the umbrella a little wider, as if offering protection without forcing it.
Nara stared at the rain falling outside the circle of the umbrella. She did not believe in kindness without reason. The world had proven too many times that every hand extended always came with a steep price.
"I'm fine," she said finally.
Arsen did not force the issue. He simply stood there, silent, as if waiting for a decision that Nara herself did not know how to make.
Several minutes passed. The streets became quieter. The last bus had passed without her noticing.
Nara closed her eyes for a moment. Her head felt heavy. Her body was exhausted. And for the first time since arriving in this city, fear surfaced—not fear of others, but the fear of the possibility that she was truly alone.
When she opened her eyes, Arsen was still there.
Not moving. Not forcing. Just waiting.
"There's a cheap inn nearby," he said quietly. "I can take you there. You don't have to talk if you don't want to."
His tone was not demanding. It did not sound like a pickup line, either. Just a simple statement that, strangely, felt sincere.
Nara stared at the dark street ahead of her. She had only two choices: walk aimlessly in the rain, or follow a stranger offering a dry place for one night.
She did not know which was more dangerous.
However, the cold had already crept into her bones.
"I just need a bed," she said finally, her voice almost drowned out by the rain.
Arsen nodded once. "That's enough."
They walked side by side under one umbrella. The distance between them was not too close, but enough for Nara to be acutely aware of his presence. The scent of rain mixed with a soft, masculine perfume. Not sharp. Not overwhelming.
The city streets looked different from inside the circle of the umbrella—quieter, more fragile. Nara did not speak. Neither did Arsen. The silence between them felt strangely comfortable.
Yet beneath that calmness, something moved slowly—like a small crack in a wall, unseen but already there.
After walking for a few minutes, Arsen opened the door to a small, dimly lit inn. An elderly receptionist lifted their head lazily, recording data without asking many questions.
When the room key changed hands to Nara, a strange feeling emerged in her chest. Not a sense of safety. Not fear, either. Something more complicated—like standing on the edge of a cliff without knowing how deep it was.
Arsen stopped in front of the room door. "Get some rest," he said. "This city is not kind to those who are exhausted."
Nara looked at him for a moment. For the first time, she realized that his eyes also held the same exhaustion.
"Why are you helping me?" she asked suddenly.
Arsen paused for a moment. His smile was thin, barely visible. "Because someone once helped me when I had no one."
The answer sounded simple. But there was something behind it—something unspoken.
Nara opened the door to the room. Before entering, she looked back.
"Thank you," she said softly.
Arsen merely nodded. Then he left without looking back.
The door closed. The sound of the rain sounded more distant now. Nara leaned against the back of the door, staring at the cracked ceiling. Her chest felt strange—lighter, but also more fragile.
She did not know that this brief meeting under the rain would be the beginning of something far darker than her past. She did not know that the man with the black umbrella would become the center of all the pain she had yet to feel.
That night, she only knew one thing—for the first time in a long while, she was not truly alone.
And that was precisely the beginning of a destruction she would never be able to stop.