Chapter 11
The rain was relentless. It didn't simply fall—it poured, drenching Hokkaido's Love Bridge with a quiet persistence that made the world feel both smaller and infinite at once. Drops tapped rhythmically on the umbrella above them, but the sound was drowned by the river rushing below and the muffled echoes of couples walking hand in hand across the wooden planks.
Kuje and Shina stood shoulder to shoulder beneath the small, shared umbrella. Their bodies were close—not intentionally—but by the necessity of the narrow space. The wind whipped around them, teasing strands of Shina's hair against her face, making her close her eyes briefly as if to block it. Kuje, noticing the movement, instinctively tilted the umbrella just a little further, shielding her from the falling droplets. His own shoulder soaked, but he didn't step back, didn't complain, didn't say a word.
For a long time, there was only silence.
🌌 Kuje's Mind
Kuje's mind wandered far from the bridge, the rain, and the soft chatter around them. He was inside his own private world—a world he usually never entered voluntarily.
Rain.
Something he had always despised.
The weather he would curse silently to himself. The day he had learned to avoid.
And yet, today… today it felt different. He didn't understand why. His chest, usually tight with annoyance at inconveniences, felt strangely… calm. Almost… warm.
He allowed himself the faintest thought, fragile and almost embarrassing in its honesty:
"Maybe… I want the rain to not stop."
It was absurd. The thought startled him almost as much as the rain had startled him earlier in his life. He didn't know why it felt… good. He didn't know why he wanted to linger in the cold wetness, watching droplets dance off the umbrella.
For the first time, the rain wasn't an enemy.
☔ Shina's Subtle Movement
Shina sneezed—soft, almost shyly. Not because she was cold. Not because she was ill. She had simply been holding herself still too long, absorbing the quiet, the tension, the strange energy between her and Kuje.
Kuje snapped back to reality. Without thinking, he shifted the umbrella again, subtly adjusting it so that every bit of Shina's small frame stayed dry. His shoulder, now soaked, didn't matter. The small movements, almost imperceptible, were instinctive—a reflex that surprised even him.
They walked in silence, the sound of the rain around them masking every whispered thought. The world had narrowed to just the two of them, two bodies so close that neither had spoken a word but every unspoken thought was weighted with meaning.
🌀 Internal Conflict
Inside Shina, the storm outside mirrored a storm within. She was frustrated. Irritated. Angry. The whole day had been unexpected, humiliating, and overwhelmingly intense. And yet… she didn't feel entirely upset anymore. The closeness, the quiet, the way Kuje didn't let her get wet even though he was drenched—it stirred something in her she hadn't admitted even to herself.
"Why does this feel… comfortable? Why does this feel… safe?"
Her heart beat faster, a rhythm she tried to ignore. She focused on keeping her umbrella steady, but her eyes betrayed her thoughts, flickering to Kuje every few seconds. He was staring straight ahead, expressionless, yet she could feel the tension in his posture, the careful way he shielded her from the rain.
It shouldn't matter. She shouldn't notice. She shouldn't care. But she did.
💭 Kuje's Realization
Meanwhile, Kuje's thoughts spiraled deeper. He had always been indifferent, emotionally distant, calculating. But the rain. The silence. Shina's tiny sneeze. The way her umbrella tilted slightly in the wind, exposing her cheek to the droplets.
It struck him suddenly, almost violently, that he wanted this moment to last. He wanted the rain, the quiet, the tension, the subtle warmth of proximity that made him feel… human.
"Maybe… I really do want the rain to not stop."
He didn't fully understand why. He didn't even try to. The thought was enough.
🌧️ The First Movement
Shina shivered slightly in the wind. Not cold, but tense. Kuje instinctively adjusted the umbrella over her head again. He moved closer, not enough to touch her arm, but close enough that the space between them was charged.
Her eyes flickered up. She caught him staring—almost caught, but he quickly looked away. A small blush rose to her cheeks, almost invisible in the dim light. The silence became heavier, charged, like the calm before a storm.
She wanted to speak. She wanted to tease him. She wanted to break the moment. And yet… she didn't. She allowed the silence to stretch, because part of her didn't want it to end either.
🛤️ Returning to the Hotel
Eventually, the rain began to slow, tapering off into a fine drizzle. The bridge felt emptier now, the other couples having gone their separate ways. Kuje and Shina walked back toward the metro, umbrella between them, still unspoken words hanging in the space.
Everything should have returned to normal. They should have laughed, bickered, argued. But the rain had left an imprint.
By the time they returned to the hotel, the storm outside had passed—but inside, Kuje felt a fever rising. He didn't complain. He didn't tell Shina. He simply continued acting normal.
🌙 Midnight Crisis
The clock in their hotel room showed 3:00 AM. Kuje's body burned. His skin flushed unnaturally. Shina noticed immediately when he removed his jacket.
Her heart skipped. She checked his temperature—and froze.
It was dangerously high.
Shina's voice was steady, but her thoughts raced:
"I knew it… he's really burned himself out. This idiot got soaked for me, and now he's paying the price."
She couldn't panic—not yet. She had to think, plan, act.
📞 Emergency Measures
Shina dialed the hotel's emergency number. Her hands were steady, but her heart hammered.
👉 "Room 1365. Emergency. We need a doctor immediately."
The hotel operator replied calmly:
👉 "Understood, ma'am. A doctor will be there shortly."
Minutes later, a doctor arrived, efficient and professional. He examined Kuje, administered IV fluids, gave medications, and explained to Shina in detail what to do:
👉 "These medicines, three times a day. Keep him hydrated. He'll recover in a day or two with proper care."
Shina nodded silently. She felt a strange mixture of relief and lingering frustration. Kuje was asleep, still burning with fever, unaware of the subtle storm of emotions swirling around him.
🌌 Closing Thoughts
Shina sat by the bed, watching him sleep.
She reflected on the day—the rain, the silence, the umbrella, the closeness she didn't want to admit she had felt.
And Kuje… that unthinking, distant boy who somehow made her feel safe, despite being an unrelenting thorn in her side.
For the first time, she realized something profound: care wasn't always expressed in words. Sometimes, it was shown quietly, invisibly, in the spaces between gestures, in the way a soaked shoulder didn't matter, in the way an umbrella could shelter more than just a body.
The rain had fallen, and in its wake, something subtle had shifted between them.
Somewhere, deep inside Kuje, something had shifted too.
"Maybe… I want the rain to not stop," he thought again, without fully understanding why.
And for tonight, that was enough.
To Be Continued… 🎬