The rain drizzled softly, weaving tiny silver rivers through the empty streets. Shoes splashed through shallow puddles as a teenager strolled past shuttered shops, hood up and hands deep in his jacket pockets.
He didn't rush. He liked how the rain sounded — soft, like a secret only the clouds knew.
He even liked dancing in it sometimes. Not for anyone else, just for himself — little twirls and light steps when no one was watching. It made him feel alive, like the world was music only he could hear.
He paused in front of the school gate and tilted his head up slightly, reading the nameboard with a quiet hum. "Mm. Still here," he murmured to himself, then smiled and kept walking.
Even under the hoodie and sleek black mask he wore, there was something magnetic about him. Graceful, confident, effortlessly poised — he turned heads without even trying. Almost everyone noticed: the staff, the guard at the gate, even a passing teacher who did a double take. There was something about his aura—elegant, calm, and quietly captivating. He didn't demand attention, yet it followed him like a shadow.
Inside, the corridors smelled faintly of wet shoes and old paper. He didn't mind. A staff member pointed him toward the office, her eyes lingering just a moment longer than necessary. He thanked her with a polite nod and a sunny, masked smile that somehow still felt warm.
In the office, he handed over the folded envelope he'd kept safe in his bag. The lady at the desk adjusted her glasses and flipped through the papers, clearly intrigued but trying not to stare.
"New transfer, huh?" she asked.
"Sort of," he replied with a light smile.
"Came to finish the paperwork today. Won't be showing up with the Monday crowd."
"Lucky," she said, almost envious. "Enjoy the weekend."
He chuckled. "I plan to."
He signed what needed signing and tucked the documents back into his folder. No fuss, no delay. On the way out, he paused to gently close the office door behind him so it wouldn't slam.
Even as he walked down the hall, a pair of teachers in conversation paused mid-sentence. The principal, stepping out of a room, gave him a curious look before returning inside. He wasn't trying to be seen — but he was the kind of person people remembered.
By the time he stepped outside again, the rain had picked up. His shoes squeaked a little, but he didn't complain. He just pulled his hoodie up higher and turned toward home.
The small convenience store on the corner was still open, warm light spilling onto the wet street. He ducked inside, bought a can of hot milk coffee and a pack of chocolate sticks, and thanked the uncle at the counter with a polite wave.
"Still raining?" the shopkeeper asked.
"Yup. But it's nice," he said, smiling as he looked out the glass door. "Feels like the sky's humming."
The man chuckled. "You're the only kid I know who likes rain this much."
He only grinned. He could've told him he liked dancing in it too — but that was a secret between him and the sky.
By the time he reached the familiar bend in the road, the world had gone soft and gray again. His house came into view — its lights warm behind the curtains, shoes lined up neatly on the porch.
Except… there were too many.
He blinked, then smiled to himself.
Slipping off his shoes, he stepped inside. The scent of something sweet from the kitchen wrapped around him like a blanket.
"I'm home," he called gently, pushing his hoodie back and slipping off his mask.
"You're soaked again!" his mother said from the living room. "There's a basket for the wet clothes this time."
"I saw it, I saw it," he replied, laughing as he peeled off his socks.
She peeked out from the living room. "Oh, and we have guests. Some friends dropped by — they'll stay the night."
He leaned around the corner.
The living room was full of people. Teenagers about his age, some drying off their jackets, others digging into biscuits and tea on the low table. A few looked up as he entered — and the room paused.
Even without the mask, he looked almost unreal. Drop-dead gorgeous in the way that made silence fall naturally. Ethereal features, soft eyes, a gentle smile — he radiated light without meaning to.
"Hi," one of them said with a friendly nod. His hair stuck out in a dozen directions, like he'd fought the storm and lost.
"Hey," he said cheerfully, stepping onto the carpet and setting his coffee on the table. "Good timing. I brought snacks."
He held up the chocolate sticks.
That broke the ice fast.
Someone scooted aside to make space. Someone else asked if the coffee was from the corner shop. And just like that, he was part of the circle.
He didn't ask who they were. They didn't ask who he was. It didn't feel like strangers meeting — just people waiting out the rain together, like it was the most natural thing in the world.