Chapter 10 – Rain on a Quiet Afternoon
The faint tapping of rain against the windowpane stirred something in Takumi.
It had been raining since dawn, and the world beyond the glass was bathed in shades of grey—clouds heavy and unmoving, the streets below glistening with scattered puddles and shimmering droplets cascading down power lines.
Inside, however, was warmth. A fragile kind of warmth, cocooned not just in blankets or heated air, but in the soft presence of someone who chose to stay.
Saeko was humming a tune in the kitchen, her voice so low that it nearly disappeared into the hiss of the kettle and the clinking of porcelain.
Takumi sat at the dining table, his hands cupping a mug of tea she'd just placed in front of him. He wasn't particularly fond of tea, but he never said no when it was from her.
There was something comforting in the way she did things, as if each movement—no matter how small—was an act of care, of quiet affection.
"You slept alright?" she asked without turning.
Takumi nodded, even though she couldn't see. "Yeah… better than usual."
He had woken up to the smell of miso soup and grilled fish, his blanket tucked just a little more neatly than he remembered.
And there was that fleeting scent of her shampoo on the pillow beside him. Not that he was bold enough to say that out loud.
Saeko chuckled softly. "You always say that, but I still find you tossing and turning at night. You mumble in your sleep too."
"Eh? I do?" Takumi's face warmed instantly. "What do I even say?"
She didn't answer right away. Instead, she brought over her own cup, sat across from him, and tucked her legs beneath her.
The sleeves of her cardigan slipped down her wrists as she cradled the cup in both hands. "Just dreams, I think. Sometimes it's names. Sometimes apologies."
"Oh." He stared into his cup, watching the steam swirl like fragile smoke. "Sorry if it bothers you."
"It doesn't." Her reply was swift. "If anything… it makes me feel closer to you. Like I'm not just here to cook or tidy up, but really… part of your days. And nights too."
Takumi's eyes flicked up. Saeko's gaze was steady, gentle—but there was something behind it, a depth that he was only beginning to understand. It wasn't just kindness. It wasn't just maternal instinct. It was something more personal. More vulnerable.
The rain kept falling. Somewhere outside, a car splashed through a puddle, breaking the soft rhythm of the afternoon. Inside, silence nestled between them, not uncomfortable, but thoughtful.
"I've been thinking," Saeko said finally, setting her cup down with a soft clink.
"You've come a long way since that first day we talked. You've been eating more, your eyes look less tired… and you smile more often. That's your doing, you know. Not mine."
"It's not," he said quietly. "If I hadn't met you, I'd probably still be drowning in myself."
"You met me because you reached a point where you let someone in. That matters too."
He nodded slowly. "Maybe. But still… I owe you a lot."
She didn't argue. Instead, she smiled in that way only she could—tender, like the way one watches snow falling slowly under a streetlamp. "Then owe me by living better. That's all I want."
...
Later that afternoon, they shared the couch, a drama playing on low volume in the background.
Saeko had a blanket over her lap, her head leaned against the armrest. Takumi sat beside her, legs crossed, fidgeting with the hem of his sweater.
There were no grand gestures. No dramatic confessions. Just the shared comfort of being.
But something shifted. A pause in dialogue on the screen led to a moment where both turned to each other at the same time. Their eyes met.
And held.
"I like this," Takumi said, surprising even himself.
Saeko tilted her head. "This drama?"
"No," he said. "I mean… this. Us. Being together like this."
Her eyes softened. "Me too."
Their hands found each other without thinking. Fingers lacing gently.
And the rain, for the first time in hours, began to slow.
Evening settled quietly. Dinner was simple—ginger pork, rice, and miso soup. Saeko cooked, and Takumi watched, occasionally helping with slicing or setting the table.
There was something ritualistic in their routine now, and though not much was spoken, nothing needed to be.
They ate in calm silence, broken only by the faint music from her radio. Afterward, Takumi insisted on washing the dishes.
Saeko didn't protest much, only giving him a teasing smile before stepping away to prepare tea.
When he returned to the table, she was already setting down two cups and a small plate of red bean mochi.
"You've got midterms next week, right?" she asked as they sipped.
"Yeah… I've been trying to study at night. Not easy though."
"Then let me help," she offered. "I used to tutor high school kids back when I had more time. I might still be useful."
Takumi blinked. "Seriously? You'd do that?"
She laughed. "I wouldn't have offered otherwise."
He nodded, a little embarrassed. "Thank you, Sae... I mean Mrs. Saeko."
She gave him a mock frown. "Hehehe, why do you call me that?"
"I… I don't know what else to—"
"How about just Saeko?"
He hesitated.
But then, slowly, he nodded. "Alright… Saeko."
It felt strange. But not wrong.
...
That night, Takumi found himself unable to sleep. Not from nightmares or stress, but from something lighter, warmer.
He stood by his window, looking out at the now-damp street. The rain had stopped, and reflections danced in the puddles beneath streetlamps.
There was something he hadn't felt in years growing inside him—a kind of fragile hope. The kind that made tomorrow feel less like a burden.
And when he turned from the window, he noticed a small note on his desk. In Saeko's handwriting.
"You're doing great. I see it. Don't give up now. – S"
He smiled.
For once, the silence didn't feel empty.
It felt full.