Rainy Shift, One Umbrella

The shift started like any other: a can of coffee in one hand, price tags in the other, praying I didn’t accidentally charge someone 10,000 yen for a rice ball again.

By early evening, the sky outside had turned an ugly, smudged gray, the kind that promised more than just a drizzle. A single raindrop slid down the glass door, then another—until the sound became a steady plink-plink-plink, like fingers drumming impatiently.

Then came the downpour.

Sheets of rain hammered the pavement, blurring the world into streaks of neon pink and blue from the store sign. The reflection made it look like we were trapped underwater.

I leaned against the counter, chin propped on my hand. “Perfect. Of course, the one day I forget my umbrella, the heavens decide to reenact Noah’s Ark.”

Miyu scanned a bento box without looking up, her ponytail swaying slightly. “Forgot your umbrella again?”

“…Maybe.”

She finally glanced at me, raising one perfect eyebrow. “So yes.”

“Define ‘yes.’”

She smirked, sliding the bento across the counter to the lone customer. “Figures.”

The storm kept most customers away. The usual shuffle of footsteps and hum of chatter was gone, replaced by the buzz of fluorescent lights and the faint rattle of rain on the roof.

I wiped down the counter for the third time, more out of habit than necessity. Miyu leaned against the register, flipping through a magazine, looking as calm as a monk.

“Bored?” she asked, eyes still on the page.

“A little.”

“Enjoy it while it lasts. Tomorrow you’ll probably drop another basket of instant noodles.”

I groaned. “You’re never letting that go, are you?”

“Not a chance.” She turned a page. “That fall was art. You took three shelves down with you.”

I grumbled something unintelligible, but her lips quirked just enough for me to know she was enjoying herself.

For a moment, the only sound was the rain and the low hum of the fridge cases. The silence felt… heavier than usual.

“Don’t you ever get tired of it?” Miyu asked suddenly.

I blinked. “Tired of what?”

“The routine. Same shift, same customers, same everything.”

I thought about it, watching a raindrop race another down the glass. “I dunno. It’s not exciting, but it’s… safe, I guess.”

She was quiet for a beat, then closed the magazine with a soft snap. “I guess Safe isn’t always bad.”

A flash of lightning lit up the entire store, turning Miyu’s face white for an instant.

Then—click.

Darkness.

I nearly leapt three feet back. “W-what was that?!”

“The weather,” Miyu said, deadpan.

The emergency lights flickered on, bathing everything in a dull orange glow.

“Don’t tell me you’re scared of thunder.”

“I’m not scared,” I said, which was technically true. “I’m just… cautious.”

“Cautious,” she repeated, clearly amused.

The lights steadied, but the storm outside didn’t let up. The glass doors rattled with every gust of wind. The whole store felt smaller, like the walls were closing in.

I tried to focus on anything else, but my brain helpfully supplied the thought: If this turns into a horror movie, I’m definitely the guy who dies first.

By the time our shift ended, the storm hadn’t budged. The street outside was a mirror, reflecting the streetlights in fractured puddles.

I stood at the doorway, staring out like I was about to face execution. “Guess I’ll just… run for it.”

“In that?” Miyu gestured at my uniform, which was very much not waterproof.

“I’ll dry off eventually,” I said, though my voice lacked conviction.

Miyu sighed, long-suffering but almost fond. She dug into her bag and pulled out a folded umbrella.

“You’re hopeless,” she said, shaking it open.

“…You only brought one?”

“Of course. they’re is only one of me.”

“So… what now?”

She stepped past me, holding the umbrella aloft. “We share.”

The rain was deafening the moment we stepped outside. Miyu angled the umbrella, and I squeezed in beside her.

Too close. Way too close.

Her shoulder brushed mine with every step. The faint scent of her shampoo—something floral, soft—filled my nose. My heart thudded like I’d just run track.

“Don’t lean so much,” she said. “You’re tilting it.”

“S-sorry.”

We fell into step, shoes splashing in shallow puddles. The entire world felt muffled by rain, like we were walking inside a secret bubble no one else could touch.

For once, Miyu wasn’t smirking. She just looked ahead, calm and steady, as if the storm didn’t bother her at all.

I risked a glance at her profile, lit by the glow of a streetlamp. She looked softer somehow—less the untouchable senpai, more just… Miyu.

We reached the corner where our paths split. The rain still poured, but we were mostly dry.

Miyu snapped the umbrella shut and held it out to me. “Here.”

I hesitated. “What about you?”

“I’m faster, plus my house is not that much further from here, so I’ll be fine.”

Before I could argue, she was already jogging away, ponytail swaying, quickly swallowed by the curtain of rain.I stood there, holding the umbrella. It felt heavier than it should, as if it was carrying something else—her trust, maybe. Or just the faint scent of her shampoo.

Either way, my chest felt tight in a way that wasn’t entirely unpleasant, or that could have been the expired coffee I drank.

Maybe this job isn’t so bad after all.