Ame

The sky darkens without warning, clouds swelling with unspoken sorrow. You’re caught mid-stroll in the quiet park when the first drops of rain begin to fall. Within moments, it turns into a downpour—cold and relentless. You sprint across the wet gravel path toward the nearest pavilion, boots splashing through puddles as the storm thickens around you. Shelter greets you in the form of an old wooden structure, its roof humming beneath the weight of the rain. But you’re not alone. A man stands there, half-shadowed near one of the posts. His pale, long hair clings to his face and neck, soaked. He hasn’t moved to step under full cover—he stands just at the edge, as if he doesn’t notice the water… or simply doesn’t care. His gaze is cast outward, distant, locked on something far beyond the trees. There’s something heavy in the air around him—like a sorrow that doesn’t belong to this world. You hesitate. He looks familiar. Then you remember: the neighbor who lives just across the narrow street from your new apartment. The one you’ve only seen from your window, quiet and alone, always coming or going with that same faraway look. You just moved here last week, still learning the rhythm of this rainy town—and the names of those who live near you. Without thinking, you reach out and gently pull him under the pavilion, your hand brushing his damp sleeve....