The Girl Who Saw Through the Rain
The wind on the roof didn't just blow; it screamed. It looked like the weather was listening to the inner chaos of my soul. How ironic.
It was a hollow, haunting sound that tore through the chain-link fence, vibrating against the metal mesh like a choir of ghosts.
To anyone else, it might have been terrifying, but to me, it was the only thing that made sense.
The world was cold, loud, and it didn't care about the boy standing on the edge of a precipice.
Or maybe I was the only one feeling this.
I leaned my forehead against the cold wire. The sensation was sharp, a grid of icy pressure against my skin, but I welcomed it.
It was a physical grounding that kept me from simply dissolving into the grey mist of the afternoon.
Below me, the school courtyard—the stage where my life had just been dismantled—looked like a miniature model.
From this height, the bouquet of crushed pink roses I'd kicked into the shadows was invisible, along with my humiliation. My existence felt just as microscopic.
"Are you happy for me, Shin??" Those words echoed again in my mind, and there was nothing I could do to stop them.
Her voice was a jagged shard of glass lodged in my throat. I couldn't swallow it down, and I couldn't spit it out.
Every time I closed my eyes, the loop played again.
I saw the way her eyes had sparkled—not for me, but for the guy who had appeared out of nowhere with the "correct" flowers.
'Stop... stop... stop...'
I had spent seven years tending to her, anticipating her every mood, learning the exact cadence of her laugh and the specific way she took her tea.
I had built a shrine out of my own life, and she had walked past it without even a glance to go worship at a neon-lit altar she'd found five minutes ago.
Moreover, she never allowed me to have any other close friends other than her, getting angry whenever someone tried to get close to me. I thought that everything mattered.
Without realizing it, I shifted my weight.
The concrete ledge beneath my sneakers felt slick with the first few drops of a coming storm.
The "thousand needles" promise—the one we'd made with interlocked pinkies in a sandbox—didn't feel like a curse anymore. It started feeling like an invitation.
If the price for breaking that promise was pain, then what was the price for having it broken against you?
The vertigo started to pull at me, a magnetic force tugging at my center of gravity. I took a breath, the air tasting of ozone and wet pavement.
I was ready. Too ready. But...
"If you're planning on jumping, you should probably wait until the rain really starts. It'll wash the mess away faster, and the janitor won't have to spend his whole afternoon with a hose."
The voice was low, raspy, and completely devoid of the performative sweetness I was used to hearing from the girls at this school. It cut through the wind like a serrated blade.
In that moment, I froze.
My heart, which I had convinced myself was stone, gave a painful, jagged thud against my ribs.
I didn't turn around because I couldn't bear to let anyone see my face—streaked with salt, red-eyed, and utterly defeated.
I felt like a ghost that had been caught haunting the wrong house.
"Go away," I whispered, though the wind snatched the words and threw them into the void.
"No can do," the voice replied, as heavy footsteps approached. Combat boots. Rhythmic, heavy, and certain. "I like the view from up here. Besides, you're blocking my favorite spot to smoke where the teachers don't look. Move over."
Slowly, painfully, I turned my head.
Standing a few feet away was Akane.
I knew her, of course. Everyone in the junior year knew Akane, but usually from a distance. She was the permanent resident of the back row, the girl who looked like she'd sooner headbutt you than say hello.
But the special thing about her was that she was Kurone's "best friend," a title that always confused people because they were polar opposites. Where Kurone was all strawberry-blonde waves and soft ribbons, Akane was a jagged edge.
She hung out with Kurone and me multiple times, but we never talked so much.
Her hair was a messy, charcoal-black wolf cut, the layers choppy and intentional. On her left temple, a distinct, clean-shaved undercut gave her a rebellious, asymmetric look that defied every school grooming standard. Silver hoops climbed up the cartilage of her ears, her eyebrow, and an industrial bar pierced the top of the right one. She looked like a storm cloud given human form.
Moreover, a long, cross-shaped earring was hanging from her ear.
She was leaning against the doorway of the roof access, her hands shoved deep into the pockets of an oversized black hoodie. She wasn't wearing her school blazer. She looked like she didn't give a damn about the rules, the weather, or the crumbling boy in front of her.
Nobody understood why she was free to dress like that, but I sometimes overheard students saying she was authorized by the teachers to dress like this because, despite her appearance, she was the most brilliant student at the school.
"Akane," I breathed, my voice a pathetic croak. "What are you... Why are you here?"
"I already told you. I come here for the quiet," she said, her golden-yellow eyes—sharp and cat-like—locking onto mine. She didn't look away or look uncomfortable.
Instead, she looked at me with a terrifyingly lucid intensity. "But it's hard to get any quiet when there's a guy about to turn into a sidewalk pancake five feet away. You look like shit, Shin."
I let out a dry, rattling laugh. It hurt my chest. "Thanks. I feel like it."
She walked closer, stopping right next to me, but she didn't try to pull me away from the fence.
She just leaned her back against it, staring out at the darkening horizon as the first heavy raindrops began to pelt the concrete. "I saw the courtyard," she said casually, as if talking about the lunch menu. "I saw the roses. And I saw that Kenji's face. He looks like a golden retriever that just discovered it can bark."
I flinched at the mention of the flowers. "Then you saw how pathetic I am. You should be down there with her, Akane. Celebrating. She's your best friend. She's... she's happy. So you should be happy too, right?"
Akane turned her head, her gaze boring into me. "She's an idiot. And she's blind. Just because I've known her since we were toddlers doesn't mean I have to pretend she isn't acting like a total bitch. And, boy, you're overreacting over someone who actually never cared about you."
I blinked, the word bitch echoing in my head. No one ever called Kurone that. She was the school's darling.
"She's not... she just forgot," I stammered, my old habits of defense rising up like a reflex. "It was a childhood promise. It's been years. She didn't mean to hurt me, she just got caught up in—"
"Stop it." Akane's voice was a whip. She stepped away from the fence and moved into my personal space, forcing me to look up at her. She was slightly taller than me in those thick-soled boots. "Stop making excuses for her. She didn't 'forget,' Shin. You don't forget seven years of someone following you around like a guardian angel. You don't forget a person who held your hand through every exam, every cold, and every bad day. And, if that was only a 'childhood promise', why were you about to jump off? Are you stupid? Do you think that she would regret everything and revive you?"
She stepped even closer, her scent—sandalwood, old leather, and a hint of something sharp like citrus—overwhelming the smell of the rain.
Her words made my heart twist and my teeth grit.
"She chose to ignore it because it was easy," Akane hissed. "She took your devotion, used it to build her own confidence, and then the second she felt 'pretty' enough to attract a guy like Kenji, she tossed you aside. She used you as a placeholder, Shin. A safety net. And you're standing here thinking about dying for a girl who wouldn't even ruin her eyeliner to cry at your funeral."
The dam I had built around my heart finally, irrevocably shattered.
It wasn't just the betrayal anymore; it was the truth. Akane was holding up a mirror, and for the first time, I wasn't seeing the "romantic childhood friend" narrative. I was seeing the reality of my own servitude.
The wind howled again, but I didn't hear it. The only sound was the jagged breath escaping my lungs.
My vision blurred into a kaleidoscope of grey and gold. A single, hot tear escaped, tracing a path down my freezing cheek, followed by another, and another.
"She asked me if I was happy for her," I choked out, the words tasting like ash. "Akane... she looked me in the eyes, saw me standing there with nothing, and asked me if I was happy. How could she... how could she not see me?"
Akane didn't offer a hug or give me a cliché "everything happens for a reason." Instead, she reached out and grabbed the lapel of my blazer, her grip firm and grounding. She just pulled me away from the edge of the roof, her eyes never leaving mine.
"Because she only sees herself, Shin. That's the 'angel' you've been worshipping. A girl who is so in love with her own reflection that she thinks everyone else is just lighting for her stage."
The rain began to pour in earnest now, a heavy, rhythmic drumming that turned the world into a blur.
Akane dragged me toward the sheltered alcove near the rooftop door.
Then, she sat down on the cold, damp concrete, leaning her back against the brickwork, and patted the spot next to her.
"Sit," she commanded.
I collapsed next to her, feeling like a puppet whose strings had been cut with a dull pair of scissors.
The adrenaline was gone, leaving only a bone-deep exhaustion.
"Cry," Akane said, staring straight ahead at the curtain of rain. "I'm not going to tell anyone. And I'm sure as hell not going to tell her. Let it out, Shin. Purge that shit from your system."
And I did. I put my head in my hands and I sobbed.
In that moment, Akane's words awakened something inside of me. And I still couldn't understand why she was actually there, caring for me, in her own way.
I didn't just cry for the rejection; I cried for the ten-year-old boy who had believed in destiny, cried for the seven years of Saturdays I'd spent waiting for her, cried for every time I'd suppressed my own needs to make sure she was smiling.
I felt like I was vomiting up a lifetime of wasted affection, a thick, black sludge of devotion that had been suffocating me for a decade.
Akane didn't say a single word. She just sat there, her shoulder pressed against mine, a steady, warm presence in the freezing grey.
After a while, I felt something heavy and warm drape over my shoulders.
I looked up through blurry eyes. Akane had taken off her oversized hoodie. Underneath, she was wearing a fitted black tank top that showed off her toned, athletic arms and a small, delicate tattoo of a moth on her collarbone. She looked utterly unfazed by the cold.
"You're going to freeze," I managed to say, wiping my nose with the sleeve of the hoodie. It smelled like her—spicy and clean.
"I've got thick skin, but you? You look like you're made of glass right now," she replied, her voice softening just a fraction. She reached out and absentmindedly twisted the industrial bar in her ear. "Keep it on. It looks better on you anyway."
I pulled the hoodie tighter. It was huge on me, the hem reaching my mid-thighs, but the warmth was intoxicating.
"Why are you doing this, Akane? You're her best friend. You're supposed to be somewhere with them right now. She's probably wondering where you are."
"Let her wonder, I think that saving a dumbass who was about to die because of a whore was more important," Akane said, a dark glint in her eyes. "Moreover, I'm tired of watching a masterpiece be treated like a doormat. I've been watching you for years, Shin. I've watched you carry her bag, study for her tests, and look at her like she was the sun. And I've watched her take it all as if it were her birthright. It really, really made me sick, to the point of vomiting."
She turned to look at me, and for a split second, the "tomboy" mask slipped. I saw a hunger there, a fierce, predatory protectiveness that made my breath hitch.
"She forfeited her right to you today," Akane whispered. "When she broke that promise, she threw you in the trash. And I'm the kind of girl who knows how to find treasure in the garbage."
I looked down at my hands, hidden in the long sleeves of her hoodie. "Akane...?" I whispered.
She knew everything, but in that moment, I was too focused on my feelings to notice. I didn't want to ask any question, it was not the time.
"What?" She said with a cold voice.
"I don't know how to stop. Everything I am... it was all for her."
"Then I'll help you build something new," Akane said, standing up and offering me her hand. It wasn't a soft, delicate hand like Kurone's. It was a hand with callouses, scarred knuckles, and a grip that felt like it could hold up the sky. "But first, you're getting off this roof. You're coming to my place. You need to eat something that isn't a 'sad chocolate,' you need to sleep, and you need to stop smelling like a victim."
I looked at her hand, then up at her face. I was too stunned to speak or protest. I just nodded at her.
Since I lived alone, there would've been no problem for me to go to her place. Despite that, I felt like I needed someone to talk with.
"O-Okay..." I said.
The rain was dripping off the ends of her wolf cut, her golden eyes shimmering with an intensity that terrified and thrilled me at the same time.
I reached out and took her hand. She pulled me up with a strength that was effortless, her body leaning into mine for a second to steady me.
"Akane?" I asked as we walked toward the door.
"Yeah?"
"Thank you."
"Jeez-" Akane sighed.
She didn't look back, but I saw the corner of her mouth twitch into a sharp, knowing smirk. "Save the thanks for later, Shin. I'm a very expensive therapist. You're going to owe me."
The walk to Akane's apartment was a blur of neon lights reflecting in oil-slicked puddles and the rhythmic thud-thud of her combat boots on the pavement.
Luckily, the rain had stopped.
I followed her like a stray dog craving food, still wearing her hoodie, with the hood pulled low to hide my red eyes from the commuters heading home.
She lived in a small, modern apartment complex about fifteen minutes from the school. As she swiped her keycard and led me into the elevator, the silence between us wasn't awkward—it was heavy, like the air before a lightning strike.
"My parents are never home, I literally live here alone," she said as the elevator doors opened on the fourth floor. "Workaholics. They pay the rent, so they don't have to deal with me. Suits me fine."
She opened the door to apartment 402 and stepped inside, kicking off her boots. "Shoes off. Don't track the rain into the sanctuary."
I stepped inside, feeling as if I were entering a different dimension.
Akane's apartment didn't look like any girl's room I'd ever seen.
There were no ribbons, no pastel colors. One wall was covered in acoustic foam and hung with three different electric guitars. A record player sat on a low shelf, surrounded by stacks of vinyl. The air smelled of incense and that same sandalwood scent that clung to her hoodie.
I glanced around the apartment and noticed that there were no photos of her with her family anywhere. "No family photos?" I asked.
Akane shrugged. "Guess I wasn't 'feminine' enough for them. They preferred working."
I didn't know what to reply, but I felt a glimpse of sadness in her voice.
"Sit on the couch and make yourself at home. I'll get you some tea. And no, it's not 'her favorite' tea. It's my personal tea. It's bitter, and it'll wake you up." She immediately added, preventing another awkward silence from forming.
I sat on the dark grey sofa, feeling the soft fabric beneath me. I looked at the guitars, the posters of bands I'd never heard of, and the messy pile of motorcycle magazines on the coffee table. This was Akane's world. A world Kurone probably never even bothered to look at.
While she was in the kitchen, I could hear her, until the smell of tea reached my nostrils. It felt... strange, almost... nostalgic, in some ways.
A few minutes later, she returned with two steaming mugs.
Then, she handed me one and sat down on the other end of the couch, tucking her legs under her.
She watched me over the rim of her mug, her golden eyes tracking every movement as I took some small sips of it. The taste was just like the smell: nostalgic and bittersweet.
"So," she said, her voice dropping to a low, intimate register. "How does it feel? Being free?"
"It doesn't feel like freedom," I admitted, staring into the dark amber liquid. "It feels like I've been hollowed out."
"That's good," Akane said, her smirk returning. "It means there's plenty of room to fill you up with something... better. Something real."