The Moment Between Clouds And The Echoes Of Rain

The night unfolded in serene quiet, the city's usual hum softened under the cover of darkness and the soft rays of the streetlights filtering through the curtains. Kenji leaned back in his usual spot by the window, a small cup of tea growing cold in his hand. It was a routine, this quiet moment alone before bed, where the weight of the day began to ease but gave way to thoughts he usually kept buried.

His gaze drifted outside to the dimly lit street. The world seemed so still now, but his mind wasn't. It wandered, as it often did, back to four years ago—a time when his life felt chaotic and unsteady, before he and Nanako had tied their lives together.

Back then, they weren't married yet. He remembered the phone call vividly, Axel's trembling voice on the other end. His mother Sachiko—gone, just like that.

The moment Kenji and Nanako heard the news, it was as if the ground beneath them disappeared. There was no hesitation, no second-guessing—just a flurry of urgent movements. Within hours, they were on a plane bound for Italy, their minds racing faster than the aircraft cutting through the night sky.

Kenji sat by the window, his reflection ghosted against the glass as he stared out at the endless expanse of clouds. His jaw was tight, and his thoughts were a storm of worry and unresolved emotions. Nanako, seated beside him, clutched her phone tightly, her knuckles pale as she scrolled through messages, desperate for updates. Despite the tension, she kept her composure, her calm presence grounding Kenji as he tapped his foot nervously.

The cabin was quiet, save for the hum of the engines and the occasional rustle of passengers shifting in their seats. The dim overhead lights cast long shadows, making the moment feel suspended in time. Every hour felt like an eternity, and though neither of them spoke much, their shared sense of urgency was palpable.

As he sat down he leaned on his seat near the window just besides Nanako he remembered the bond and past he shared with his Sister. Kenji and Sachiko shared a bond that was deeper than the typical relationship between a brother and sister.

They shared a bond that far surpassed the absence of blood ties, built instead on years of shared experiences and unshakable trust. Despite not being related by birth, Sachiko had always felt a maternal instinct toward Kenji, stepping into a caretaker role when circumstances demanded it. She treated him almost like her own son, offering a warmth and guidance that filled the gaps left by others in his life.

From helping him with schoolwork to bandaging his scrapes after childhood adventures, Sachiko was a constant presence. Her care for Kenji was instinctive and wholehearted, as though it was her purpose to shield him from the harsher edges of the world. Kenji, in turn, trusted her completely and looked up to her with admiration, respecting her as both a protector and an unwavering source of love.

Though Sachiko sometimes wondered if her protectiveness might hold him back, she couldn't help but see Kenji as someone who needed nurturing. She would often smile and tease him gently, but beneath her lightheartedness was a deep commitment to ensuring he felt secure and valued as Kenji apartment from being her beloved brother was also an orphan.she gladly adopted him as their second son after she got married to brother Kaito.

For Kenji, Sachiko wasn't just a surrogate sister; she was the closest thing to family he had ever truly known. He admired her resilience and the quiet sacrifices she made for him, even when she tried to brush them aside. Their bond wasn't without its challenges—like all close relationships, misunderstandings arose—but it was an enduring connection, one that wasn't defined by blood but by love and an unspoken understanding that they were, in every way that mattered, family.

When the plane finally descended over the Italian landscape, the golden lights of the towns below twinkled against the dark hills. But neither Kenji nor Nanako noticed the beauty of the view. Their focus was singular. As the wheels touched the tarmac, they exchanged a glance—unspoken but resolute.

Pov: Kenji:

The day of Florian Axel's mother and my sister Sachiko's funeral unfolded beneath a somber, rain-soaked sky. The heavens, cloaked in gloomy grays, seemed at odds with the vibrant spirit she had brought to the world. Her life had been a testament to joy, her memory a beacon of warmth, and the awakened funeral brimmed with people who gathered not just to mourn, but to celebrate her legacy. Their tears, though heavy, were carried away by the overwhelming love and memories they shared.

Yet the very thought of being there left me trembling in pain and fear of seeing her lifeless self, "No!" I couldn't be there. Not because I didn't care, but because the thought of seeing her lifeless form felt unbearable—a fragile image that would have shattered me completely. So I refused to go to the funeral with Nanako even when she insisted.

The rain poured harder as I sat frozen, my hands gripping the steering wheel, my heart hammering against my ribs. I was supposed to be there. I wanted to be there. But every time I closed my eyes, I saw her—still, silent, gone. The weight of it threatened to suffocate me.

But then I thought of Florian. Of Surgical. Of the way Sachiko had always told me to take care of them if she ever wasn't there. And I wasn't keeping that promise by sitting here, paralyzed by fear.

I forced the rented car from the hotel into gear, the tires splashing through puddles as I sped toward the cemetery. By the time I arrived, most of the crowd had begun to thin, the final prayers whispered into the damp wind. I scanned the mourners, my breath catching when I finally saw them—Axel, his eyes red and raw, standing beside Nanako, Surgical, who clutched something in her hands.

And then I saw it. An axolotl, carved from wood, delicate and smooth. Sachiko had loved axolotls, hadn't she? She used to say they were creatures of renewal, of survival.

Just like us.

I stepped forward. Late, but finally there.

The rain had softened to a gentle drizzle by the time I stepped out of the car. My shoes sank slightly into the damp earth, but I barely noticed. My chest was tight, my breath uneven. I was late—too late, maybe—but I was here.

Through the thinning crowd, my eyes locked onto Axel. He stood near the fresh mound of earth, his face streaked with tears, his shoulders trembling beneath the weight of grief. Surgical stood beside him, cradling the small wooden axolotl in her hands, her expression unreadable.

I took a hesitant step forward. Then another.

Axel turned. The moment he saw me, something in him broke. A sob wrenched free from his chest as he closed the distance between us in a few staggering steps. Then his arms were around me, holding on as if afraid I might disappear, his body shaking with silent cries.

I held him just as tightly. "I'm sorry," I whispered, my voice hoarse. "I'm so sorry."

From beside us, a gentle hand rested on my head. I turned slightly, just enough to see Nanako's soft smile through the mist of my own tears.

"You finally came," she murmured. Her voice was neither scolding nor reproachful—just warm, as if she had always known I would.

And maybe Sachiko had, too.