Ai's POV
Rain and I have a complicated relationship.
I love it when I'm watching it from behind a glass window, tucked inside a blanket. But when it ambushes me in the middle of the street like a wild raccoon? Yeah, not a fan.
Which is exactly how I ended up sitting in front of a bookstore, hugging a tote bag full of books and trying to shrink myself into the shadows under the thin concrete awning. The sky had turned into a broken faucet, and I'd made the stupid decision to walk back from the library instead of waiting for my sister's call. She is going to pick me if I waited for her.
She also told me to stay at home but nope I wanted a book.
The wind was cold, and the rain hit the sidewalk with unnecessary violence. Droplets kept splashing onto the hem of my jeans, and the chill was slowly crawling up my spine. I tugged my hoodie tighter and stared out at the empty street, hoping the rain would have the decency to stop within the next century.
To pass time, I opened my bag and pulled out a book. It was an old copy with faded edges, and the cover smelled like dust and forgotten thoughts. My sister would call it a "health hazard,".
I flipped through the pages, mouthing the words as I read. Maybe I looked a little crazy. But who was watching, anyway?
Turns out—someone.
A sharp thud jerked me sideways.
"Ow—!" I exclaimed, more from shock than pain.
Now, my books resting on the stone floor.
I blinked at them. And then at him.
He turned around mid-step, eyes wide. "Crap—I didn't even see you there!"
I stared at him. He stared back. That awkward beat of two strangers trying to decide who apologizes more.
"That one's my fault," he muttered, crouching and gathering my now-soggy books.
One book came back with the corner completely folded. I watched a puddle claim another one. Great. Poetry, meet drowning.
He looked up at me, rain dripping off his nose. "You always read books in storms, or is today special?"
"I was trying to get hit by lightning, actually," I deadpanned, grabbing the last book from the street. "But I guess your soda beat the weather to it."
He snorted. Not the reaction I expected.
"Sorry," he said again, rubbing the back of his neck like a cliché. "Didn't mean to—wait... are you bleeding?"
I glanced down. A cut on my palm — long and clean. Probably from the zipper or the metal ring on the side of my bag. Thin stream of red sliding past my wrist. Neat. Delicate.
I tilted my head. "Huh."
"Huh?" he echoed, alarmed. "You're, like, bleeding and you're saying huh?"
"I didn't feel it." I shrugged.
His expression turned cautious. Like I'd just told him I collect strangers' teeth for fun.
"You should feel it," he said. Then added, quieter, "…Right?"
I didn't reply.
He hesitated. Then reached into his jacket and awkwardly pulled out a crumpled travel tissue pack. It looked like it had survived a war. Or his backpack.
"Here," he said, offering it like it was some sacred gift. "It's… all I've got."
I took it without thanks, because awkward kindness is harder to accept when you're used to being your own emergency contact.
He watched me dab at the wound like I was wiping off ketchup instead of actual blood.
"You okay?" he asked.
I nodded.
He kept watching. Clearly not convinced.
Then the weirdest thing happened.
A car splashed by, spraying water, and the guy instinctively stepped in front of me. Like a shield. Like someone who does that kind of thing for strangers.
I blinked at him.
He was soaked now. Shirt clinging to him like regret.
"…You didn't have to do that," I said, voice quieter.
He shrugged, like that kind of thing wasn't a big deal to him. "You didn't scream at me for dropping your books. So I owe you one."
"Is this is the reason so... I'm okay with it." I replied.
I can feel the feeling that he's surprised by my strange behaviour.
---------
The rain was still coming down like someone had a personal grudge against the earth. I wasn't moving. Not until the clouds signed a peace treaty.
He shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked on his heels. "You're waiting it out?"
I glanced at the sky. "I have a policy against drowning."
"I thought your policy was hit by a lightning strike."
"Only when I forget an umbrella," I smirked.
He sat down beside me. Not too close, just… beside. Like a normal person would do if he weren't completely normal.
"You're not from around here, are you?" he asked, brushing his damp bangs back.
I narrowed my eyes. "Because I'm sitting outside in the rain like a tragic background character?"
"No," he said, smiling, "because your accent disappears and reappears every two words."
I blinked.
Touché.
"…Germany," I muttered. "Was there for a few years."
"Oh, cool. Did you like it?" he paused "Loved the bookstores. Hated the sauerkraut."
He made a face. "Okay, I respect that."
Weird.
A cat wandered across the street, tail high, completely unbothered by the storm. I watched it, feeling the silence stretch again, but this time it was… nicer. Calmer.
"Do you always talk to strangers?" I asked, side-eyeing him.
"No," he said, "but you looked like someone who might be plotting something dramatic. I didn't want to end up as a plot twist in someone's autobiography."
I snorted. "Please. If I was plotting something, there'd be lasers. Maybe a villain monologue."
He laughed again. It was annoyingly easy with him. Like my usual quiet bubble didn't mind the extra passenger.
"By the way," he said, turning toward me. "I'm Haru."
I raised an eyebrow.
"Not trying to make this a friendship origin story," he added quickly, "just thought I'd tell you the name of the guy who nearly made your books into soup."
"…Ai." I said.
He paused. "Just i ?"
"It's already short. Would you prefer I add a last name for dramatic effect?"
"I mean, yeah, that would help when I write about this day in my memories."
"Go ahead," I said, straight-faced. "Call it 'That Time I Almost Murdered a Girl's Books with Style'."
He grinned. "It's got a nice ring to it."
Another car passed, slower this time, its headlights slicing through the drizzle. I watched the drops race each other down the bookstore window. My fingers were starting to sting.
Not the wound. Just… the cold.
"Are you going to spend your important time here?" He finally asked.
"I don't live far," I said, shrugging. "My sister's coming to get me. Probably with antiseptic wipes, a tetanus reference, and the look she gives patients who skip appointments."
"She a nurse?"
"Worse," I groaned. "Doctor. Head of anesthesiology. Scary good with scalpels and guilt trips."
"Yikes."
"You have no idea."
I paused. "She doesn't even know I'm out today. I kinda snuck out to get a book."
Haru stared at me. "You braved a thunderstorm and potential parental wrath… for a book?"
I shrugged. "Books are quieter than people. And they don't ask questions unless you want them to."
"That's… weirdly poetic."
"Thanks. I'll tattoo it on my face later."
He huffed a laugh and leaned back against the wall, letting his head rest there. His hair was flattened to one side, and his hoodie was soaked through, but he didn't seem to mind.
"You know," he said after a pause, "I think you're the first person I've met who's stranger than me."
"I take that as a compliment."
"It wasn't."
"Still taking it."
We sat like that for a while. The rain softened a bit, like the sky was finally getting tired of its own tantrum. I tucked the napkin he gave me back into my pocket, stained now with a little red, and noticed that the bleeding hadn't fully stopped yet.
I'm just tired of this...
I didn't know who Haru was. Probably wouldn't see him again..
But sometimes, people arrive like that — in storms, in chaos — with a backpack full of soda, a clumsy smile, and a single napkin.
My phone buzzed.
A text from my sister:
"I'm outside. You're in trouble."
Wow.....