Chapter 3:
You from The Third Rain in Another World
The next morning, the air was still misty when the sound of roosters woke Hasan. He opened his eyes slowly, realizing he was not at home. The wooden walls, the sounds of nature, and the distinct scent of wet grass reminded him that he was still in this unfamiliar world.
Hasuna was still fast asleep, his small body curled under a handmade blanket. Hasan looked at his son's face for a moment, then stood quietly so as not to wake him.
Outside, Kinahrejo Village was already stirring. Thin smoke rose from the kitchens, and children had begun playing on the grassy field overlooking the farmland. Karin sat on the front steps, tying the worn leather straps of her shoes. When she saw Hasan come out, she only glanced briefly before returning her focus to her hands.
“Morning,” Hasan greeted softly.
“Morning,” Karin replied curtly, without looking at him.
Hasan sat a few steps away—not too close, but near enough to speak.
“Yesterday... I’ve been thinking about what you said. About how I reminded you of someone you used to know,” said Karin, still not meeting his eyes.
Hasan swallowed, unsure of how to respond.
“I felt something strange, too. Since the moment I saw you, it was like looking into a mirror... but not a normal one. More like seeing a reflection of a life I never lived.”
This time, Karin looked at him.
“Who am I, really, to you?” she asked suddenly.
Hasan took a deep breath. “You... are someone who no longer exists in my world. Someone I loved deeply. And now... I see you again, but you're not her. I know you're someone else. But... my heart still can't tell the difference.”
Karin held his gaze for a moment, then stood up. “I don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. But if you want to know me, then get to know me—as I am. Not through someone else’s shadow.”
She walked away, leaving Hasan silent on the steps.
That day, Hasan tried to help with the villagers' chores. He was assigned to repair the livestock fence. Nails were replaced with twisted vines, and hammers with flat stones. His hands blistered, but he kept working.
In the late afternoon, as the sun leaned west, Karin returned to find him. This time, she brought two cups of a sweet tree sap drink.
“I don’t even like this,” she said, sitting beside him. “But the village elder says it’s good for energy recovery.”
Hasan accepted it. The taste was bitter at first, then faintly sweet at the end.
“You’ve never really asked about me, have you?” Karin asked suddenly.
Hasan nodded. “I was afraid.”
“Afraid of what?”
“Afraid that the more I learned about you, the harder it would be to let go.”
Karin gazed out at the field. “My name really is Karin. Just like you said. But I’m not a soft woman. I grew up in a world where kindness was weakness. I started training to fight when I was twelve, defending this village from raiders, healing wounds with forest herbs. I’m not someone who trusts easily.”
Hasan listened in silence.
“But Hasuna... he makes me feel different. He reminds me of what I once wanted in life. I... used to think about having children. But I figured this world was too harsh for that.”
Hasan turned to her. “Hasuna really likes you too. He even drew a picture of you.”
Karin laughed softly. “I saw it. He gave me a massive nose.”
Hasan laughed with her—for the first time that day.
A few days later, the village chief called a meeting. A group of travelers from a neighboring village had arrived with goods and news.
“There’s conflict in the north,” one merchant reported. “The central government is pressuring smaller villages to pay a new tax. Many are refusing. A battle broke out in Mandera Village.”
Hasan didn’t fully understand the politics of this world, but judging by the villagers’ serious expressions, he knew this wasn’t a minor problem.
“We must prepare,” Karin said, standing like a soldier. “If refugees arrive or enemies come, we need to be ready.”
“You’ve been in war?” Hasan asked after the meeting.
Karin looked at him. “Yes. But I’m not proud of it.”
Hasan lowered his gaze. “The more I learn about you, the more I realize you’re not her. But... that doesn’t mean you’re not someone worth admiring.”
Karin looked at him for a moment, then said quietly, “I don’t know why, but... I don’t mind getting to know you either.”
That night, Hasuna came to Hasan, who was sitting near the fire.
“Dad... this mom... she’s different, huh?”
Hasan looked into his son’s eyes.
“Yes. But she’s kind, isn’t she?”
Hasuna nodded. “Sometimes... I wish we didn’t have to go back.”
Hasan felt a pang in his chest. He knew that Hasuna was starting to feel at home in this world too.
“Let’s see, okay?”
Hasuna nodded and curled up in his lap.
The days passed. Hasan and Karin spent more time together—gathering herbs in the forest, clearing debris from the stream, even teaching the village children how to tie strong knots from tree bark.
Every night, they sat together on a small hill, talking freely. They no longer spoke of the past, but of the present. Karin began to share her dreams—about opening a small school so village girls could learn to read and write.
“This world has silenced women for too long,” she said. “I want to change that. Even if it’s just in one village.”
Hasan simply watched her, feeling a growing admiration. He had never seen this side of his wife in the other world. But this Karin... had strength and clarity, and somehow—she was starting to feel like a new kind of home.
One night, the first rain fell.
It wasn’t the mystical, world-shifting kind of rain. Just ordinary, heavy rain—cold and relentless. Hasan and Karin stood under the overhang of a stilted house, watching the water pour down the dirt roads.
“Back then... rain terrified me,” Hasan said. “Since that day.”
Karin reached out and touched his hand. “But now, maybe rain can mean something else.”
Hasan looked at her.
“Do you believe... a person can love two versions of the same soul?”
Karin was quiet for a moment. “I don’t know. But I believe hearts can heal. And love... it can grow more than once.”
Hasan nodded. That night, they didn’t say much else. But for the first time, their hands found each other—and the grip felt natural.
Outside, the rain continued to fall. No strange lights. No thunder. Just simple, quiet rain.
But for Hasan, it was the first time rain didn’t feel like pain. And a new question began to form in his heart: was this world truly offering him a second chance?
As night deepened and the scent of wet earth lingered in the air, Hasan felt something he hadn’t felt since the tragedy—
Peace.
And for the first time, he looked toward the future, not the past.
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