[Chapter 1: After the Rain]
It had been a few weeks since Takumi handed her that photo.
Since he remembered. Since he looked at her—not just as the girl who sat next to him in class—but as someone he'd once offered an umbrella to on a rainy day.
Yuri held the photo gently now, sitting by her window as soft spring rain tapped against the glass. She hadn't told anyone she kept it, tucked inside her diary like a fragile piece of proof that her heart had been seen.
For years, she thought she was the only one who remembered. That maybe she'd dreamed it all—that the quiet boy with the cartoon umbrella, the soft voice, the way he sat beside her without a word—had all just been part of a lonely girl's imagination.
But he remembered.
Somewhere, in the quiet spaces of his mind, he had held onto her too.
Now, every time she looked at him, she saw both the boy he was and the boy who had become her friend, her support… maybe more.
Her heart felt light and heavy at the same time.
That rainy day had changed everything for her.
And now, after all these years, they were walking forward together—with that moment between them like a secret bridge no one else could see.
[Chapter 2: The Boy Who Sat Beside Me]
> Ten years ago — Rainy Day in the Park
It wasn't supposed to rain that day. That's what the weather app had said.
Yuri remembered it so clearly. Her mother had brought her to the park while running errands, and Yuri had wandered toward the swings with her tiny pink umbrella.
The sky darkened too fast.
The rain came down heavy and cold. Her mom had gone to the restroom near the parking lot, and Yuri—trying to be brave—tried to sit quietly. But then she slipped on the path, scraping her knee.
It wasn't deep, but it stung.
So she sat alone on the swing, curled up with her umbrella, feeling the kind of small only a child could feel.
Then… he appeared.
A boy.
Maybe a year older. Messy black hair clinging to his forehead. He wasn't holding his umbrella right; it tilted sideways, like he'd forgotten what it was for. The pattern of cartoon dogs was faded, and one of the metal ribs was bent.
He noticed her but didn't say anything at first.
Then, without asking, he walked over and held the umbrella above her head, awkwardly crouching beside the swing.
> "You okay?" he asked, his voice quiet. A little stiff.
She looked at him. His shoes were muddy. His socks were mismatched. But his eyes… they were calm. Tired-looking, even as a kid.
"I fell," she muttered.
"...You're bleeding a little."
"I know." Her lip quivered.
He pulled something from his pocket—a crumpled pack of tissues—and offered it like it was the most normal thing in the world. She took one and dabbed her knee.
> "Thanks," she whispered. "You're weird."
Takumi:
> "You're the one sitting in the rain."
That made her laugh, even through her sniffles. It wasn't loud—it was the soft kind of laugh that bubbles out when something feels a little less scary than before.
He sat down beside her on the swing, still holding the umbrella between them. They said nothing for a while. The sound of rain on metal, the gentle creak of the swing, the smell of wet leaves—those filled the silence.
Yuri watched the puddles grow at her feet.
> "What's your name?" she finally asked.
> "Takumi."
> "I'm Yuri."
A beat passed.
> "Okay," he said.
She blinked. "That's it? Just okay?"
He nodded. "It's a good name."
Yuri smiled. She didn't know why—but her heart felt a little warmer.
When her mother's voice called from the distance, she stood up quickly. She was about to run toward it when she paused.
Turning back, she waved at him with both hands. "Bye-bye, Takumi!"
He blinked, then slowly lifted his hand. "Bye."
And then she was gone.
Just like that.
[Back in the Present]
Yuri traced the paper crane he had once given her, now sitting gently on her desk next to the photo.
She didn't know why he'd remembered her. Not fully. But something about that moment had stayed in him, even if buried.
And now, it had bloomed again—between them.
The boy who once sat beside her in the rain… was still here.
Still by her side.
[Chapter 3: A Memory That Stayed]
> Present Day – Takumi's POV
Takumi stood by the window of his room, watching the rain fall in sheets. It was the kind of rain that muted the world—the kind that made you think about things you hadn't thought of in years.
The photo was still on his desk.
That day in the park… it had returned to him like a whisper.
He didn't know why he remembered it now. Maybe it was Yuri. Maybe it was the way she smiled sometimes—soft, like she was holding back a story.
Back then, he hadn't really understood what he was doing. He just saw a girl sitting in the rain and… something about it didn't sit right with him. She looked lost. Like how he felt, sometimes, when his parents were too busy and the house was too quiet.
So he gave her his umbrella. Sat beside her.
Didn't even think much of it.
He remembered the weird squirm in his chest when she called him weird.
The way she laughed—even through tears.
The way she waved at him like he was someone important.
And then… she was gone.
He hadn't remembered her name. Just her eyes.
Light brown hair. A pink umbrella. A quiet kind of strength.
Even as the years passed, that memory had stayed buried.
Until now.
Until her.
Yuri Shinomiya.
He didn't notice her at first when they became classmates. Not in that way. He was too wrapped up in his own indifference, his own lazy rhythm of life. But the more time they spent together—the more she helped him, nagged him, teased him—something started to shift.
He realized it when he saw her watching the rain once.
No umbrella. No words. Just watching.
And something about the way she looked at it felt… familiar.
That's when the memories came creeping back.
Not all at once. Not clearly. But flashes.
A swing. A scraped knee. Her laugh.
The girl from back then.
And the girl now.
They were the same.
He never thought one small act—one afternoon in the rain—would mean anything to anyone. But it had meant something to her.
And now, it meant something to him too.
> Ten Years Ago – Takumi's POV
He had followed his mom to the park because she said she'd buy him ice cream afterward.
He didn't even like going out that much. But he went.
It was boring. The grass was wet. The sky felt heavy.
He remembered kicking pebbles on the path when he saw her—a little girl sitting on the swing, her umbrella crooked, her knee bleeding.
He didn't think.
Just walked over. Held out his umbrella.
She looked like she might cry.
He hated seeing people cry.
So he offered her tissues. Said something dumb. Sat beside her.
They didn't talk much. She called him weird.
He didn't mind.
She laughed. It was… nice.
And then she was gone. Her mom came back. She waved like they were old friends.
He never forgot the sound of her laughter that day.
It was the first time someone looked at him like he mattered.
> Back in the Present
Takumi looked at his reflection in the window, his own face staring back—older, a little sharper, but still carrying the same tired eyes.
He wasn't sure if he had made her life better that day.
But maybe… he made her feel a little less alone.
Just like she was doing for him now.
Because every time she smiled at him—every time she stood by his side—he felt like he wasn't drifting anymore.
And maybe that was what it meant to find someone again.
Not by chance.
But by something quieter.
Something deeper.
Like a memory that never really left.
[Chapter 4: Where It All Began Again]
> A few days later – Yuri's POV
Yuri stood at the edge of the park, her umbrella resting loosely in her hand. The sky was overcast again, like it was remembering too.
This was the place.
The swing set, the old bench near the path, even the worn-down sign by the fountain—it hadn't changed much. It looked smaller now, but the weight in her chest was just as heavy as she remembered.
She hadn't come here in years.
When Takumi had texted her, asking if she was free that weekend, she didn't expect this place.
He'd kept it short. Typical of him.
> "Meet me at the park near the station. You'll know which one."
And she did.
The moment she stepped onto the gravel path, her footsteps slowed. Each step felt like it echoed against the past.
She spotted him sitting on the same swing where she had cried all those years ago, the metal chains creaking faintly under his weight. His black hair was damp from the light drizzle, and his umbrella lay forgotten beside him.
She approached slowly, her voice barely above the sound of the wind. "You didn't bring a coat."
He looked up, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Neither did you."
She sat down on the swing beside him. For a while, they just listened to the rain tapping on the leaves.
Then, quietly, he said, "It's still the same."
"Yeah," she replied, voice soft. "Even the swings still squeak."
He chuckled, but it faded quickly. "I was scared, you know."
She looked at him in surprise.
"That day," he clarified. "You were crying, and I didn't know what to say. I just… didn't want you to feel alone."
Yuri stared ahead. "You didn't say much. But that was enough."
They both went quiet again.
The memories felt louder than words.
Takumi eventually spoke, his voice low. "I didn't recognize you at first. Not when we met again. But something about you always felt… familiar."
"I knew it was you the moment I saw you," Yuri admitted. "You looked just like that boy. Lost in thought. Pretending not to care."
He glanced at her, slightly embarrassed. "Guess some things don't change."
She turned to him then, her eyes meeting his. "You changed more than you think."
A breeze passed, gentle but cold.
He shifted slightly, then pulled something from his pocket and held it out to her.
It was a small, folded paper. When she opened it, she found a drawing—rough and childish. Two stick figures under an umbrella. One with messy hair, the other holding a heart.
Her breath caught.
"You kept this?" she whispered.
He nodded. "Found it stuck between the pages of that album. I think I drew it that night. Didn't even remember doing it."
Her fingers brushed the lines softly, like touching a piece of her past.
"I thought I imagined that day," she said. "Until you gave me that photo."
"I forgot for a while," he replied. "But maybe I didn't want to remember. I was just a kid. But it mattered. More than I knew."
She looked at him, eyes glassy but warm.
"That's the first time someone sat beside me without asking why."
"That's the first time I felt needed," he said.
And just like that, silence wrapped around them again—but it wasn't empty anymore.
It was full of things they didn't need to say.
> Later, as they walked home
Their umbrellas brushed slightly as they walked side by side.
The rain had stopped, but neither of them noticed.
Yuri broke the silence. "Do you still think I'm weird?"
Takumi smirked. "Absolutely. But I guess I like weird."
She laughed—soft and real. "Good. Because I like lazy."
He gave a fake sigh. "Rude, Shinomiya."
"Honest, Tachibana."
And in that moment, under the quiet, gray sky
they weren't just remembering the past.
They were rewriting it.
Together.