The rainy season began with quiet drizzles and grey skies. After school, the rooftop was off-limits, and P.E. was canceled often. Instead, Miyu and I stayed in the library. It smelled like old books and clean pages—a secret sanctuary.
We sat side by side at the study table, occasionally whispering over kanji sheets or science notes. She always made little diagrams in the margins, turning cell membranes into smiley faces.
"You draw better than the textbook," I said once.
"That's because the textbook has no soul," she joked.
One day, the rain was pouring hard when we left. I only had one umbrella.
"We can share," I offered.
Her shoulder pressed lightly into mine under the small canopy. We walked slowly, rain splashing around our feet.
"This is nice," she murmured.
"Yeah," I whispered. I wasn't talking about the weather.