August 1st, 2026
In a quiet neighbourhood where Mariko lived - 7:02 PM
Rain was falling.
It began gently, droplets like timid whispers tapping the rooftops and sidewalks of the quiet Tokyo neighborhood. Ian looked up at the gray sky as the cool drops landed on his cheeks and eyelashes, slowly trickling down like the tears he never let fall.
He held his palm out, watching the tiny beads of water gather in the lines of his hand. There was something soothing about the rain - something that reminded him of forgotten childhoods and long walks home from school with no one to greet him at the door.
Then the sky opened.
With a sudden hush, the rain turned to a torrent, hammering the pavement and rooftops with urgency.
Ian gave a heavy sigh, lowered his gaze, and kept walking. His thin hoodie was already soaked through, sticking to his arms and back like a second skin, and his jeans were dark with water. His sneakers squelched with every step.
No umbrella. No home. No destination.
He wandered along the narrow residential street, following his instinct more than any specific memory.
The house he'd visited minutes ago wasn't Mariko's. He'd clearly gotten something wrong. And now, with the sun buried beneath heavy clouds and the rain falling like the world was mourning, he felt more aimless than ever.
Then he saw it - a small bus waiting shed tucked along the sidewalk, its bench partially sheltered from the downpour. Ian rushed across the street, careful not to slip on the slick concrete, and ducked under the covering.
Sitting down on the cold wooden bench, he leaned his head back against the wall. The sound of rain was overwhelming now, but not in a bad way. It was rhythmic, like a lullaby composed by nature. And in that moment, soaked and shivering, Ian found peace.
He closed his eyes.
The soft patter on the tin roof above his head became white noise. The tension in his muscles began to uncoil. His thoughts slowed.
The rain always did this to him.
It was the same even back in South Carolina. After long days at the orphanage, when the other kids would run inside.
He reminisced a particular person. A person from his past..
Ellie Park.
A girl he grew up with in the orphanage in South Carolina.
He and Ellie would sit near the window, just watching the world blur behind the falling water.
Her name alone brought warmth.
They weren't related by blood, but she'd always felt like a sister. Loud, cheeky, wild-haired Ellie, with her paint-stained hands and her ridiculous Southern accent. She was the only one who could make him laugh when everything felt unbearable. She once told him rain reminded her of starting over. A blank canvas, she said.
His eyes were still closed when he heard it - the loud hiss of a bus braking.
The door opened with a squeak, followed by the clack of footsteps stepping onto wet pavement. Then came the unmistakable pop of an umbrella being opened. Ian didn't bother looking. Probably another drenched stranger trying to catch a ride.
Then he heard a voice.
A voice packed with a Southern accent...
Could it be?
"Ian? Ian Park? Is that you?"
It was like thunder in his chest.
He opened his eyes, breath caught in his throat, and looked up.
There she stood, the rain catching her umbrella in a soft halo, her long black trench coat flapping slightly in the breeze.
Her almond-brown hair was longer now, pulled into a messy bun with strands escaping and sticking to her cheeks. But her eyes - those bright, mischievous, hazel eyes, the kind that looked like they were always mid-laugh—were exactly the same.
Ellie Park.
"I..." he muttered, unable to move.
"Damn," she breathed, stepping closer. "What the hell happened to you? You look like shit."
She sat beside him without hesitation, her umbrella tilted just enough to cover them both. Her voice carried that same tone of endearing bluntness, but there was real worry behind it. The kind that lingered long after the punchline.
"I didn't expect to see you here," Ian finally said, his voice raw and quiet. "What are you doing in Japan?"
"World artist expo," she said, shrugging, as if flying across the globe was a weekly errand. "Had a gallery showing in Osaka. Took a train to Tokyo. Been staying with a friend." She glanced at him again. "Been looking for you, actually. Kinda felt like the universe was pulling me this way. And here you are."
He swallowed, trying to form the right words. But all he could say was, "I'm sorry you had to see me like this."
"Don't be stupid," Ellie said. "You're the same Ian to me. Just wetter."
They both laughed, the sound oddly out of place against the moody rain. Ian looked down at his lap, his fingers twitching nervously. There was so much he wanted to say. So much he wanted to confess. About Ruth. About Foxxy. About the murdered landlord. About the secrets that curled around his throat like a noose.
But instead, he said, "I'm just not expecting to see you right now...."
Ellie leaned her head against his shoulder.
"So you're implying you don't want to see me anymore?" Ellie asked, jokingly calm.
"What? No, I-"
Ellie giggled.
"Heh. Good to see you too."
"You never change, did you?" Ian said, nostalgia in his voice.
"Still the same me." Ellie said proudly.
For a moment, neither of them said anything. The rain continued its steady drumming, a melancholic symphony playing just for them.
Ian closed his eyes again, not to rest, but to hide the moisture gathering in them.
She felt like home.
He hadn't felt that in a long, long time.
And as the rain poured down around them, drowning the streets and washing the city clean, Ian let himself believe - if only for a moment - that maybe, just maybe, he was going to be okay.
The storm outside raged on.
But inside that little shelter, under a cheap umbrella and a sister's unwavering gaze, he found peace.
Again.