Chapter 51: Rain That Didn’t Wait

They leave the café after saying goodbye to the students.

Kosuke still looks half-embarrassed, half-shell-shocked.

Hanami keeps laughing under her breath, the sound soft enough to pull his eyes toward her again and again.

Outside, the night air feels cool and damp.

The streets are nearly empty, only the hum of distant traffic and the soft glow of streetlights stretching along the road.

They walk side by side with a comfortable silence trailing behind them.

Their earlier conversations still sit between them, warm but heavy.

Kosuke finally speaks.

“You really didn’t have to say that.”

Hanami tilts her head. “Say what?”

“That you were my wife.”

She smiles without regret. “Your students needed excitement. And you panicking was the highlight of my night.”

“I wasn’t panicking,” he says quickly.

“Mm. You almost passed out.”

Kosuke groans. “You still talk like you own every fight.”

“And you still act like you’ve never won one.”

Their small laughs drift away.

What stays is something quieter, softer.

A familiarity neither expected to feel again.

They’re a block from the hotel when the first drop hits Hanami’s shoulder.

She looks up.

A second drop.

A third.

And then the sky opens.

Rain pours down in heavy sheets, soaking the pavement instantly.

Kosuke reacts first.

“Oh come on. Right now?”

Hanami bursts into laughter, shielding her head with both hands.

Her hair darkens and sticks to her cheeks almost at once.

“This wasn’t in the weather report!”

Kosuke steps closer, trying to shelter her with his jacket even though it barely helps.

“Let’s go. You’ll get sick.”

Hanami doesn’t move.

She lifts her face to the sky.

Rain slides down her cheeks like tears, though she isn’t crying now.

Kosuke watches her quietly.

She looks alive in a way he hasn’t seen for years—

not polite,

not careful,

not trapped under expectations.

Just Hanami.

When she finally lowers her head, she gives him a soft smile.

“Do you remember?”

Kosuke breathes out slowly.

“Yeah. Our last summer rain.”

Both fall silent as the memory crashes over them—

running home after cram school,

trying to share one umbrella,

standing under an awning because neither wanted to say goodbye yet.

They were younger.

Braver.

Closer.

Hanami steps toward him, rain dripping from her hair and jaw.

“Back then,” she whispers, “I wanted moments like that to last forever.”

Kosuke’s chest tightens.

He fights the urge to say everything he buried for years.

Thunder cracks across the sky.

Hanami flinches.

Kosuke doesn’t think twice.

“Come on,” he says.

“We need shelter. My place is closer. Two minutes from here.”

Hanami blinks at him, surprised.

“Your house?”

“It’s better than walking another ten blocks to your hotel in this.”

She hesitates only a moment, then nods.

Kosuke gently takes her wrist—not pulling, just guiding—

and they run together through the rain.

Puddles splash under their steps.

Their clothes cling to their skin.

They laugh once or twice, short and breathless, as the downpour chases them down the narrow street.

By the time they reach the small gate in front of Kosuke’s modest house, they’re drenched.

Rain drips from Hanami’s eyelashes.

Kosuke’s hair sticks flat against his forehead.

Hanami stares at the house, shivering slightly.

“I didn’t expect this.”

Kosuke unlocks the door, breath uneven.

“Me neither.”

She looks up at him, something soft and old flickering between them.

“Then… I’ll come in,” she says quietly.

Kosuke steps aside, letting her enter first.

Not because it’s raining.

Not because she’s cold.

But because—

for the first time in years,

she chose to come into his world again.