When it rained, Saki always took the long way home.
By the rotary in front of the station, by the old bookstore, a quiet young man stood. He always offered his umbrella—one large clear plastic one—to people exiting the station. Silently, no smile.
“Strange guy,” she thought at first.
But one day, coming home from work caught in a downpour and forgetting her umbrella, he silently held out his for her.
“…Thank you.”
That was the first exchange between them.
Since then, seeing him on rainy days became her small comfort.
Saki had recently gone through another breakup. Just before turning thirty—her third separation. She no longer knew what she did wrong; or why the same ending always returned.
Yet, seeing him lend his umbrella without a word, she felt an unexpected calm.
It made her realize someone could be so quiet and kind.
One evening, the sky was heavy and grey, wind howling.
“Looks like a storm’s coming…” she muttered, clutching a convenience‑store plastic umbrella and hurrying home.
Suddenly she spotted him at the rotary. But unlike usual, he didn’t hold out an umbrella—he stood in the rain without one.
“…Huh?”
She rushed over.
“Are you okay?”
He looked up, startled. A slightly puzzled expression.
“…I don’t have an umbrella today,” he said.
It was the first time she heard his voice—low, quiet, somehow sad.
“Want mine?”
She held out her umbrella. His eyes widened slightly, then he smiled.
It was the first smile she’d seen from him.
“…Thanks. But I don’t mind getting wet.”
His words rang clear in the sound of rain.
Together they walked to the bus stop beyond the station, sharing the umbrella halfway.
“Always lending your umbrella… why do you do it?” Saki asked.
He paused, then replied:
“Once, on a rainy day, someone lent me their umbrella when I really needed it. So if someone’s struggling—I just want to do the same.”
“And that person… after you got the umbrella?”
“I never saw them again. But I remember. It was so warm.”
Saki looked quietly at his profile.
The rain slowly lessened, light glinting through the cloud gaps.
At the bus stop, he turned to her.
“…If you don’t mind, I’d like to return it—properly.”
“That means…?”
“Would you have coffee with me? When it’s sunny.”
Saki smiled faintly, nodded.
“Yes. A sunny day would be nice.”
The post‑rain breeze touched their shoulders.
It felt like her soaked heart was drying slowly—a soft wind.
And quietly, it brought them a little closer.
