Prologue: The Third Rain

The afternoon sky hung in heavy gray, releasing a gentle rain that hadn’t stopped since morning. The city streets gleamed wet under the dim light, and the sound of raindrops hitting the asphalt became a melancholic background melody. On the sidewalk, two figures walked with umbrella, soaked little.

Hasan, 28, held the hand of his son, Hasuna, still dressed in his school uniform. Neither of them spoke. Only the sound of footsteps and the soft rain accompanied their journey.

It had been three months since Karin—his wife, and the mother of his child—left this world. Everything happened so quickly, so cruelly. What began as a simple family outing ended in tragedy.

They had boarded a canoe boat on the lake that afternoon. The water was calm. The sky seemed gentle. Karin sat beside him, laughing as she teased Hasuna, who was tossing pebbles into the lake. Hasan could still hear that laugh—it haunted him in moments of silence.

But then, the weather changed. A sudden, fierce wind swept through the sky. Rain poured like an avalanche of sorrow from the heavens. The lake, once serene, turned violent. Waves crashed against the boat’s sides.

Then it capsized.

Hasan remembered the cold water surrounding him. He remembered flailing in the chaos, grabbing Hasuna tightly, calling out for Karin. Panic blurred everything. Somehow, with what strength he had, he swam them both to shore.

But Karin… she never resurfaced.

Her body was found two days later, washed up at the edge of the lake. Cold. Still. No longer smiling.

Since then, every drop of rain felt like a dagger. A sound that pierced the silence in his chest. A reminder of the arms he couldn’t save.

“I used to love the rain,” Hasan said suddenly, his voice low and hollow.

Hasuna looked up at him.

“When we were dating, your mom loved walking in the rain. She said rain could hide her tears,” he continued, a faint smile tugging at his lips, though it never fully formed.

Hasuna didn't reply, just squeezed his father's hand more tightly.

“I... I wish I could see her again. Not just memories of her. Really see her. Just once. Maybe to say I’m sorry. Or thank you. Or just to know... that she’s okay, wherever she is.”

Silence stretched between them.

Then Hasuna’s small voice broke it.

“Dad…” he said softly. “My friend told me... about a rumor.”

“A rumor?” Hasan raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah... they said that if you truly, deeply want to meet someone again, and you wish for it during the third rain of the rainy season... you’ll be able to see them.”

Hasan stared down at him. He wanted to laugh, but he couldn’t. Not because it was silly, but because even the tiniest spark of hope hurt now.

“This is the third rain in this rainy season, Dad,” Hasuna said more firmly. “It’s been raining for three days straight. Maybe... maybe if we really mean it... we can see Mom again.”

Hasan looked at his son. Water dripped from Hasuna’s soaked hair down his pale cheeks. He looked older than his age, too quiet for a child.

A rumor. A wish. A miracle.

Foolish things for an adult to believe in. But when your world has been hollowed out, even foolishness can feel like shelter.

“Alright...” Hasan murmured.

He stopped walking. Faced the heavy sky and closed his eyes.

“Dear God... If there is still space between this world and dreams... Let me see Karin. Just once. Only once... please.”

And in that moment—the sky glowed.

Not lightning. A soft, blinding light that broke through the clouds, not with thunder, but silence. The air stilled. The rain stopped instantly.

Hasan shielded Hasuna with his arms. The ground beneath them trembled slightly. Not shaking—but shifting. Something enveloped them, like being pulled, lifted, and dropped—all within the span of a breath.

When he opened his eyes... the world had changed.

The sky was now brilliantly blue. The scent of wildflowers and fresh grass filled the air. A stone path curled gently through a vast meadow. In the distance stood a small village of thatched rooftops. Birds chirped—strange birds, unlike any he had ever heard.

Hasuna clung to his father’s arm.

“Dad... where are we?”

Hasan didn’t answer. His eyes were wide—locked on the figure ahead.

A woman stood at the edge of the path.

Her hair was long and wet with morning dew. Her face—exactly like Karin’s. The same eyes. The same smile-shaped lips. The same gentle air.

But she wore something strange: a long travel coat, leather guards on her arms and shoulders, high boots, and a belt fitted with pouches—and what looked like weapon holsters.

“K... Karin...?” Hasan choked out. He stepped forward, slowly—then rushed to her and pulled her into a tight embrace.

“Karin... I missed you so much,” he sobbed, clinging tightly.

For a moment, the woman stood frozen in his arms.

Then she shoved him back.

“Hey! What—?! Let go of me!” she shouted. Panic filled her voice. “Who are you?! Why are you hugging me?!”

Hasan staggered, stunned.

Behind him, Hasuna began crying. He didn’t understand—why was his father hugging a someone who looked like his mother, and why didn’t she know them?

The woman took a step back, her eyes sharp with suspicion.

“You’re not from this village,” she said. “And your clothes... they’re bizarre. Where did you come from?”

Hasan looked around again—stone paths, sword-wielding travelers, carts pulled by animals, houses of wood and stone. The sky seemed brighter, purer. The air was too clean, too perfect.

This was not their city. This was not Earth. At least not the one he knew.

And this woman—though she looked exactly like Karin—was not his wife.

Hasuna gripped his father’s arm tighter, trembling.

“Dad... if that’s Mom, why doesn’t she remember us?”

Hasan didn’t know how to answer.

His heart had asked to see her one last time.

And the God... had answered.

But not in the way he expected.