Aira’s Storm

Chapter 4: Aira’s Storm

The next evening, it rained again—not a soft drizzle this time, but a cold, relentless downpour that turned the sidewalks slick and made the waves crash louder against the cliffs.

Still, Kaito came.

He carried a dark blue umbrella and two wrapped books beneath his coat. The park path was nearly deserted, only the sea and the storm for company. Yet even before he reached the bench, he knew she would be there.

And she was.

Aira sat hunched forward, coat soaked through, her hair flat against her back. She looked like she hadn’t moved in hours. Like she was waiting for the rain to wash her away.

Kaito didn’t speak. He opened the umbrella and held it over her first, then sat down, curling it to shelter them both. Their shoulders were close—closer than usual.

She didn’t say hello.

“You shouldn’t be out here in this,” he said softly.

“I didn’t know where else to go,” she replied, her voice hoarse. “It’s louder in my head than out here.”

He handed her a towel—one he’d tucked in his bag without knowing why—and she took it without meeting his eyes. As she dried her face, Kaito noticed something he hadn’t before: the faint trembling of her fingers.

“I didn’t bring tea today,” he said gently. “But I brought this.”

He passed her one of the books. Aira didn’t open it. Her hands clutched it like an anchor.

“I didn’t go home last night,” she said suddenly. “I sat here until sunrise.”

Kaito turned fully toward her now, eyes narrowing in concern. “Why?”

Aira stared straight ahead. “Because home stopped feeling safe a long time ago. And I didn’t know how to say that out loud until now.”

The storm roared behind her words, but she remained still, like she’d learned to brace against it.

Kaito hesitated. “Is someone hurting you?”

Aira closed her eyes, and for a terrifying moment, he thought she wouldn’t answer.

“No,” she whispered. “Not anymore. But sometimes silence lingers, even after the shouting stops.”

Kaito felt his heart twist—not just at her words, but at the way she said them, like someone who had learned to live inside the aftermath.

“You don’t have to explain,” he said gently. “Not unless you want to.”

Aira looked at him then—really looked at him—and her eyes were no longer hollow. They were heavy, yes, but alive. And maybe, for the first time in a long time, afraid of being alone.

“Do you believe people can be whole again?” she asked.

“I believe people can be different,” he replied. “And that sometimes, different is better than what we used to be.”

Aira’s gaze dropped to the book in her lap. “Then maybe I’ll keep reading. Just to see what happens.”

Kaito reached into his coat and handed her the second book. “That one’s blank. For writing your own story. If you ever feel ready.”

She held it like it was breakable. Or maybe she was.

“Thank you,” she said, voice low but clear.

They sat in silence for a long while, listening to the storm. And though the sky poured down cold and dark above them, something between them was warm, like the light of a candle in a long hallway.

And in that moment, Kaito knew:

Aira wasn’t a mystery to be solved.

She was a story still being written.

---

***Download NovelToon to enjoy a better reading experience!***