It’s raining…

Su Yu gazed out the window. Pitter-pattering raindrops drifted midair, dyeing the long-thirsty cactus by the sill a tender green—as if reborn.

The rain swelled. Silent drizzle gave way to a rat-a-tat rhythm. Wind-whipped drops slammed the glass like bullets, shattering into beads that traced slow paths down the pane.

The sky… dimmed in an instant. Thick clouds swallowed the light. Nightfall, premature and absolute.

A blinding flash. Then thunder—deafening, immediate. The sky, clear for so long, finally unleashed its pent-up fury: sudden, overwhelming.

The school bell chimed, faint beneath the storm. Today was their last day. The final afternoon before the Gaokao held no unified review.

After the homeroom teacher finished reminders for home study, she left. Seniors usually filled this gap with a farewell gathering—a bittersweet tribute to high school’s end.

But the downpour struck without warning. It replaced the pages meant to scatter from the rooftop. Plans dissolved. They packed in haste, exchanging only a meager “goodbye” as final parting.

Su Yu frowned at the deluge. Forecast promised sun. No umbrella. If he’d recalled carefully, he might’ve remembered—this day, in his previous life, also drowned in rain. Just a soaking. Nothing worth noting. So he’d forgotten again.

*Forget it.* He’d walk home. Books could wait till tomorrow.

“You’re walking home in this rain?” Chen Kai paused beside him. “Want me to walk you?”

“Just rain. Bus stop’s close.”

“Alright. See you at the exam venue.”

Chen Kai—assigned to the same test site—clapped Su Yu’s shoulder and vanished into the rain.

Su Yu stayed rooted at the doorway. Others crowded the stairwell, waiting. He knew: this rain wouldn’t stop till night.

Dampness seeped into the narrow space. Mud and rain slicked the floor. Everyone longed to leave.

From the corner of his eye—a gentle figure emerged. Xia Qian’ge, umbrella in hand.

Then—the unexpected. Like a flawless program glitching after millions of runs. A divergent outcome.

Xia Qian’ge stepped from the crowd… not toward the exit. Toward *him*.

“Share?”

She moved silently beside him, umbrella tilting.

The hallway buzzed. Unremarkable gesture—but *she* made it magnetic. Eyes locked onto them. Su Yu froze. Gazes burned hot against his back.

Xia Qian’ge never lingered with boys publicly. Rumors once swirled—*Su Yu likes her*—and though she seemed indifferent, distance grew between them. Since then, she avoided speaking to him before others.

Rumors faded. Yet now? Her offering the umbrella? Whispers bloomed.

Graduation loosens chains. Hearts confess. Classmates nodded knowingly.

But Xia Qian’ge ignored the stares. Her dark eyes held Su Yu’s. Waiting. The faint smile she always wore? Gone.

“After this… we won’t see each other again.”

The words struck like lightning. Su Yu’s knuckles whitened. Whispers solidified into walls. Trapped.

He stepped forward. Took the umbrella.

“Let’s go together.”

…

Rain hammered down. Wind hurled drops with bruising force.

Su Yu forged ahead, spine straight as a poplar, muscles taut against the gale.

Icy rain soaked his front. Warmth pressed his back. Xia Qian’ge followed close, fingers lightly gripping his shirt hem. Breath mingled. Heat tangled. Two survivors huddled in the storm.

Beyond the rain-curtain, onlookers watched. For the first time—they looked *right*. As if always meant to be.

Xia Qian’ge: Yangming High’s three-year school flower. A cliff-blooming bloom—dazzling, untouchable. Admired from afar. Longing buried deep.

They’d thought Su Yu ordinary. Youthful face. Unremarkable. Just another blade of grass in the crowd.

But now? If anyone deserved her—it was him.

…

“Okay?”

Su Yu shook rain from his hair. Wind stole warmth. They were damp despite the umbrella.

“Mm. Not too wet.”

Bus shelter offered fragile refuge. Storm raged outside. Silence hummed between them.

Xia Qian’ge broke it. Voice soft. Hair clung damp to her shoulders. Fragile. “You want to ask me something?”

“Why…” Su Yu met her gaze in the chill air. “Why *me*?”

“Worried they’ll misunderstand?”

She countered instead of answering.

“Graduation. Doesn’t matter. Just… curious.”

“Because we won’t see each other again. And why you…”

His heart hammered. He stepped back instinctively.

“Because you’re a friend. Only you know about my home. Only you find me in that empty park… and stay.”

Her tone lightened. A hint of smile returned.

“You scared me. Felt like you’d changed.” Su Yu exhaled sharply.

“Thank you.”

“Hm?”

“I don’t think I could’ve walked here alone.”

“Same. Without your umbrella, I’d be soaked.”

“Forgot to say earlier… Good luck on the Gaokao.”

“Mm. You too.”

…

Sheltered from the apocalyptic downpour, they spoke of small, safe things. No college plans. No rumors. A fragile peace settled.

But peace was illusion. Smiles—clumsy masks. Beneath, one heart still burned: fierce, relentless. A storm within the storm. Hungry. Waiting.