Chapter 27 The confession in the rain

Rain fell like a silver curtain over Vienna, soft and steady, soaking the cobblestones and painting the world in watercolors. Yui Tachibana stood at the edge of the pedestrian bridge over the Danube Canal, holding her phone tightly in one hand, her coat too thin for the chill in the wind.

She had meant to call him days ago.

She had meant to say everything.

But every time her finger hovered over the "Call" button, her heart seized. How could she explain the storm inside her, the guilt of fading smiles and late replies? She wasn’t just homesick. She was heartsick.

The Conservatory was everything she had dreamed of—and nothing she had prepared for. She had never imagined feeling so alone in rooms full of talent. She had never imagined that achieving her dream might mean leaving behind something even more precious.

Ren.

She looked at the last message he had sent: "Still listening. Still here."

Her thumb trembled. She closed her eyes.

"I need to fix this."

Back in Tokyo, Ren Amamiya sat in the music room alone, playing scales not for practice but for comfort. Every note was a reminder, every pause a wound. The distance between them wasn’t just miles; it was filled with words unsaid, songs unfinished.

But he had heard her song the night before—uploaded to the same indie site, a simple voice-and-guitar piece. Titled only: "For the One Who Waited."

She hadn’t said his name. She hadn’t needed to.

The chorus had said enough:

"I walked through echoes of you in the rain Hoping the drops would hide my shame If you still wait through storm and sky Please play our song, one more time"

His hands trembled as he reached for his phone.

No reply.

The rain in Vienna thickened, turning pedestrians into blurs behind umbrellas. Yui stepped under an awning and took a shaky breath. She opened her voice recorder app and began to speak.

"Ren... I know I said I’d never go quiet like that again. But I did. And I’m sorry. I got scared. Of not being good enough here. Of being forgotten. But every time I heard your music, it felt like a hand reaching through the dark. I want to reach back. I want..."

She paused.

"I love you."

Her voice cracked. She hit save. She sent the message.

Ren’s phone buzzed.

He opened the voice note. Pressed play.

And the moment he heard her say his name, his breath caught.

The rain outside Tokyo mirrored hers.

He recorded his own message.

"Yui. You are the reason every note has meaning. I don’t care if you fall behind, or go quiet. I’ll wait. Not because I have to. Because I want to. Because I love you too."

He sent it.

Then he grabbed his violin and played.

A new song.

Not of sadness.

But of rain turning to light.

Yui stood in her flat as Ren’s voice played through her speakers, followed by violin so tender, it made her knees give. She curled up on the floor, crying and laughing at once.

Outside, the rain slowed.

The sky softened.

That night, a new track appeared on their shared music profile.

"Confession in the Rain" — a duet.

It began with a whisper.

And ended with a promise.