Chapter 32: A Shared Glance and the Scent of Rain

Katya's quiet remark in the library — "The library was… quiet today. Good for studying." — became Alex's new talisman of cautious hope. It was hardly momentous on the surface, just a comment, casual and neutral. But to him, it was a lifeline: something solid in the uncertain drift of their current relationship. He clung to it. He replayed it in his mind, again and again, dissecting its tone, its hesitations, its lack of coldness. It was absurd, how much he read into it — but in the barren landscape of their conversations, it felt like a landmark.

He didn't push. He still gave her space, respecting the quiet border she'd drawn between them. And yet, he found himself adjusting his orbit — inching closer, but never intruding. Sitting a row nearer in class. Pausing briefly near the bulletin boards she checked. These were subtle shifts, nearly invisible, done less to provoke a reaction than to remind himself she was still there — and so was he.

Katya, for her part, remained distant. Her smiles belonged mostly to Aoi these days, her demeanor composed and muted, touched by a quiet melancholy. That spark he'd seen during the festival — the mischief, the warmth — had dimmed. But once in a while, when she buried herself in a book or leaned into a lively debate, he caught a glimmer of that flame, banked but not extinguished.

She still muttered in Russian, half-thoughts she likely didn't realize escaped her. Once, during a class discussion on ethics — truth and lies — she spoke with her head bowed, her voice soft, strained.

"Можно ли считать обманом молчание, если оно было продиктовано… страхом? Или… или даже заботой, как он утверждает? И если чувства, возникшие в результате, были настоящими… для обеих сторон… что тогда?"

Can silence be considered deceit if it was born from fear? Or… even from care, as he claims? And if the feelings it led to were real… for both sides… what then?

Her words sliced through him. Not with anger, but with their fragile, aching search for understanding. She was wrestling with it — with him. With everything they'd been and broken. And the worst part was, he couldn't help her with the weight of it. All he could do was witness it, quietly.

One gray afternoon, the rain came — not just a drizzle, but a full downpour, washing the campus in sheets. It reminded him, sharply, of the day on the rooftop. Needing a quiet space, he slipped into the covered walkway that connected the gym to the main school building. The rain drummed above, steady and rhythmic — usually a balm for his mind, though lately, even that order had unraveled.

He leaned against a pillar, staring at the watery blur beyond the windows, when he felt it — a shift in the air. A presence. Turning, his breath caught. Katya.

She hadn't noticed him. She moved slowly, her eyes on the flooded courtyard, a book clutched to her chest. Her silver hair was damp, her uniform collar flipped up against the cold. She looked small, thoughtful. She stopped near a pillar a few feet away, as if drawn to the same quiet refuge. And just like that, they were sharing a space again — separated by a few steps, and what felt like miles of silence.

He didn't move. Neither did she. The only sound was the steady roar of rain, a curtain between them and the world. He wondered — should he speak? Should he slip away? Their brief corridor moment last week had felt tentative, but this… this felt like a question suspended in time.

Then, she sighed. A quiet, weary exhale, as if releasing something she'd held for too long. She tilted her head back, eyes closed, breathing in the scent of rain.

"Дождь… он всегда напоминает мне о бабушке," she murmured, barely louder than the rain. "Она говорила, что дождь – это слёзы неба, очищающие землю. Может быть… он может очистить и… и запутанные мысли?"

"Rain… it always reminds me of my grandmother. She used to say it was the sky's tears, cleansing the earth. Maybe… it can cleanse tangled thoughts too?"

Her voice, intimate and fragile, hung in the damp air between them. Alex's heart clenched. He wanted to tell her he understood. That he, too, found something strangely comforting in the rain. That he hoped it might wash away at least a piece of what stood between them.

He stepped forward, just a little — the soft scrape of his shoes on concrete startling in the quiet. Her eyes snapped open, locking with his.

For a moment, she didn't speak. Her gaze flickered — startled, wary. But behind that, something else lingered: not just defensiveness, but… recognition. Maybe even the faintest trace of something gentler.

They stood like that, eyes on each other, rain cocooning them. The air felt charged — not with confrontation, but memory. Blini and laughter. Poems and betrayals. A summer that had cracked into something colder, harder.

He opened his mouth, not sure what he'd say — an apology? A greeting? Anything. But before he could speak, her voice reached him.

"The rain is… quite heavy today, isn't it, Alexey-kun?" she said softly. Her Japanese was formal, careful — but not entirely distant.

It mirrored the library moment. Another neutral observation. But this time, she had initiated it. She had looked at him. She had spoken his name.

"Yes, Katya," he replied gently. "It is. Good for… contemplation, maybe." His smile was tentative, offered without pressure. A subtle answer to her earlier Russian whisper — a way of saying I hear you, even now.

She blinked, a flicker of surprise passing through her features. Her lips parted, as though she might say more. Something hovered there — a word, a thought — something fragile and unrehearsed.

But the moment shattered.

"Alex! Katya-san! There you are!" Kenji's voice boomed from down the walkway. "Man, this rain is nuts! You guys hiding out too?"

Alex stiffened. Katya's expression closed instantly, the openness gone. She stepped back, eyes dropping to the book she held like armor.

"Опять он… Ну почему именно сейчас?"Him again… Why right now, of all times?

Her muttered Russian was tight with frustration. Alex didn't blame her.

He turned to Kenji with a forced smile. "Just enjoying the sound of the rain."

"The sound?" Kenji laughed. "It's a monsoon out there, man!" He paused, eyes darting between the two of them. "Wait a sec. Did I just interrupt another moment?" His grin widened. "My timing is legendary, huh?"

Katya's face turned scarlet. Without a word, she spun on her heel and strode away into the rain, her figure quickly swallowed by the downpour.

Alex watched her go, frustration and resignation swirling in equal measure.

"Smooth, Kenji," he said flatly, though a small, helpless smile tugged at the edge of his mouth. As chaotic as Kenji was, his timing was truly… impeccable.

"What?" Kenji said, raising his hands. "I'm just saying, she talked to you. Looked at you. That's progress, right? The Arctic has cracks! Maybe it's, like… a chilly spring now?"

Alex turned his gaze back to the storm, the scent of wet earth heavy in the air. A chilly spring. Maybe Kenji was onto something — in his own way. The thaw was slow. The bridge was still just scaffolding. But today, in the rain, there had been a glance. A few words. A tremor in the silence.

And for now, that was enough.

[End Chapter 32]