Between Their Platonic Relationship

CHAPTER 3: Fated Encounter

The vibrant morning had promised a beautiful day filled with love and celebration, but now, the once-clear blue sky was veiled with dark, brooding clouds. The rain poured as if mirroring her anguish, each drop crashing down with the weight of her despair.

Yoshida Tsukishima leaned back in his chair, exhaling a deep sigh. The clock on the wall ticked past the hour, long after his colleagues had left for the day.

"Of course, it’s just me again," he thought, glancing at the empty desks around him. The office was eerily quiet, the hum of the fluorescent lights the only sound accompanying his solitude.

Yoshida had always been a workaholic, but even he felt the weariness creeping into his bones tonight. He rubbed his temples, glancing out the window at the rain now cascading in sheets.

“For crying out loud,” he muttered, realizing he hadn’t brought his car—or an umbrella. He grabbed his suit jacket, throwing it over his head in a futile attempt to shield himself from the relentless downpour. “It was supposed to be a sunny day. Why does it always end up like this?”

As he stepped out onto the slick streets, the rain immediately seeped through his makeshift cover, soaking his hair and dripping down his neck. Hunger gnawed at him, a reminder of the long hours he had poured into his work, skipping meals and forgetting to care for himself. The chill of the storm bit at his skin, amplifying his frustration.

He quickened his pace, his shoes splashing through puddles, muttering complaints under his breath. The streets were unusually quiet, save for the sound of rain hitting the pavement. Then, through the veil of water, Yoshida noticed a figure in the distance—a woman, wandering. Her head was bowed, and her steps were slow and unsteady as if she were lost in a world far removed from the surrounding one.

Despite the rain drenching her completely, she didn’t seem to notice. Her soaked hair clung to her face, and her arms hung limply at her sides. Something about her presence stopped Yoshida in his tracks. She wasn’t just a passerby caught in the rain. There was a heaviness about her, a sadness so profound that it seemed to seep into the surrounding air.

For a moment, Yoshida forgot about his discomfort. He hesitated, torn between the instinct to approach and the fear of intruding. The rain fell harder, and the city lights shimmered against the wet pavement, casting a melancholic glow over the scene. Saki, unaware of the man’s gaze, continued her aimless walk. Her heart was a shattered mirror, each jagged piece reflecting memories of a love she thought would last forever.

He sprints toward the nearest taxi station, desperation evident at every step. The rain relentlessly pounds the streets, forming rivulets that cascade into gutters, but no matter how many taxis he flags, not a single one stops. Frustration builds as he realizes the futility of his efforts. Drenched and shivering, he notices the warm glow of a convenience store just around the corner and makes a dash for it, his shoes splashing noisily through puddles.

Pushing the glass door open, he’s greeted by the faint hum of fluorescent lights and the comforting aroma of instant noodles. He shakes the water off his jacket before heading straight to the aisles. He grabs an umbrella, a ready-made meal, and a bottled drink, paying at the counter while trying not to drip too much water on the floor. As he heads for the exit, he sighs, glancing at his soaked reflection in the door.

“Hachu!” He sneezes loudly, earning a concerned glance from the cashier. “Oh no, I can’t afford to get sick,” he mutters to himself.

The thought of a looming deadline flashes in his mind—a major project that could determine the future of his career. He knows he needs to get home, change into dry clothes, and rest if he’s to face tomorrow with a clear head.

Opening his newly purchased umbrella, he steps back into the storm and briskly makes his way to the nearest bus stop. The cold wind cuts through his damp clothes, making him shiver as he checks his phone for the bus schedule. Suddenly, a figure catches his attention.

Under the dim glow of a streetlamp near the convenience store, a woman sits alone on a bench. Her head is bowed, her drenched hair sticking to her face, and her luggage sits forlornly beside her. She looks utterly defeated, as though the rain pouring over her is nothing compared to the storm raging inside.

Yoshida stops in his tracks, his heart tightening at the sight.

“She must’ve lost her home,” he murmurs to himself, imagining the worst. “Sitting here like this in the middle of this rain… it’s unbearable.” He hesitates, torn between the urge to help and the thought of getting involved in someone else’s troubles. But the sight of her sitting there, soaked and motionless, tugs at his conscience. Shaking his head, he turned back toward the convenience store, muttering, “I can’t just leave her like that.”

He returns to the store and purchases another umbrella, along with a few snacks and a warm meal. Clutching the bag tightly, he steels himself and walks back to her.

“Uh… excuse me, miss,” he says hesitantly, his voice gentle but firm enough to cut through the rain. She doesn’t react. Her gaze remains fixed on the ground, and her shoulders are hunched, as if shielding herself from more than just the cold.

He steps closer and tries again, raising his voice slightly. “Miss, are you all right?”

This time, she slowly lifts her head, and Yoshida’s breath catches. Her eyes are red and swollen, her cheeks streaked with tears that the rain hasn’t managed to wash away. The weight of her sorrow is palpable, and Yoshida realizes she’s not just lost—she’s utterly broken.

“What could have happened to her?” he wonders, his heart aching at the sight.

She looks at him blankly, as though she’s not sure if he’s real or just a figment of her grief-clouded mind. Without thinking, Yoshida crouches down to her level and offers her the umbrella and food.

“I’m not sure what’s going on,” he says softly, “but you shouldn’t stay out here like this. It’s pouring, and you’ll catch a cold.”

The woman blinks at him as if processing his words through a haze. For a moment, her lips tremble, but no sound escapes.

Yoshida hesitates, then gently taps her head with the umbrella, his tone light but caring. “C’mon, at least take this. You don’t have to talk, but let me help, okay?”

She stares at him, her puffy eyes filled with confusion and a hint of something else—gratitude, maybe, or the faintest spark of hope. Yoshida waits patiently, his presence steady against the chaos of the storm.

“Don’t worry, everything will be all right,” he says softly, his voice carrying a warmth that cuts through the cold rain. As he gently taps her head, it feels less like a gesture of pity and more like a quiet reassurance—a simple human connection amidst the storm.

The woman doesn’t respond, her eyes still lost in their glassy, unfocused stare. Yoshida kneels slightly to meet her at eye level, careful not to startle her as he takes her hand, placing the handle of the umbrella in her grasp. “Here, take this,” he murmurs, his tone firm yet kind, as though willing her to accept his help.

He opens the umbrella, holding it over her to shield her from the relentless downpour. Then, with practiced ease, he places the plastic bag on her lap. Inside are snacks and a warm packed lunch, a simple offering, but one filled with intent and care.

She looks down at the bag, blinking as if trying to process his actions. Yoshida doesn’t wait for her response. Instead, he reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a small bundle of cash, carefully wrapped in plastic to keep it dry. “It’s not much,” he says, holding it out to her. “But it should be enough for a few nights in a cheap hotel. Use it to stay safe, okay?”

The woman’s lips parted slightly, as though she wanted to say something, but no words came. She glances at him, her expression a fragile mix of confusion and gratitude.

Yoshida offers her a small, encouraging smile, one that doesn’t quite reach his eyes but is genuine nonetheless. “Take care of yourself,” he adds, his voice soft but resolute. Without waiting for a reply, he turns on his heel and jogs toward the bus station, his footsteps splashing against the rain-soaked pavement.

As he runs, he casts one last glance over his shoulder, relieved to see her still sitting there with the umbrella open, the bag of food clutched tightly in her lap. The sight lingers in his mind—a small act of kindness amidst a dreary evening.

“I hope she’ll be all right,” he mutters to himself, picking up his pace to catch his bus.