Episode 3 – Weather Talk
Act I: The First Rain
The rain had stopped.
For the first time in days, the sky opened up, revealing delicate strands of light peeking through the grey. The campus shimmered under the moisture—like the world had been scrubbed clean.
Yuki Hoshino arrived at the art room early. The scent of wet paint and dust lingered in the air, familiar and oddly comforting. She set her sketchbook on the desk, opened it to a blank page, and began drawing the sky.
It wasn't clear yet—still smudged with streaks of silver and white—but it was light. Breathing. Hopeful.
"Is this where the clouds live?"
Yuki jumped slightly, her pencil dragging a line across the paper.
She turned to find Ren, standing in the doorway with his hands behind his back and that same ridiculous smile that was slowly starting to feel… less ridiculous.
"What are you doing here?" she asked, brushing her hair behind her ear.
"I came to join the art club."
She blinked. "Why?"
He pulled something out from behind his back—a beat-up sketchbook, corners curled, cover water-stained.
"I figured I should learn how to draw clouds properly if I'm gonna report on them someday," he said, flipping it open. His drawings were… not terrible, but not great either. Childlike swirls and blobby masses with the occasional lightning bolt.
Yuki stared at the page.
Ren scratched his cheek. "Okay, I'm bad. But I've been watching you sketch in class and thought, 'Wow, I wish I could draw like that.'"
She blinked. "You've been watching me… again?"
"Observing," he corrected with a grin. "Scientific purposes."
Yuki didn't smile—but the corner of her mouth twitched.
He sat beside her without asking, scooting his chair loudly. "So, teach me, sensei."
"I'm not a teacher," she mumbled.
"You're the cloud expert here."
She opened her sketchbook reluctantly, flipping to today's page.
"I just… look at them," she said. "Clouds aren't flat. They breathe. They shift. You don't copy them—you follow them."
Ren leaned in to watch as her pencil danced across the page. She sketched the layered sky from memory—soft cumulus at the edges, with lingering streaks of cirrus curling high above.
"That's amazing," he whispered.
Yuki paused, not used to compliments—especially ones that sounded that honest.
She cleared her throat. "You said you want to be a weather reporter?"
"Yeah," he said, gaze still on her hand. "Always have. Ever since I was little, I'd watch the forecast every morning like it was a mystery show. I loved trying to guess where the clouds would go, or if rain would fall before my mom's laundry finished drying."
He smiled wistfully.
"I wanted to be the guy who knew—the one who could warn people, keep them safe."
Yuki looked at him sideways. "Because of your brother?"
He nodded slowly. "Yeah. After he died, I kept thinking… if I had just known, if I could've predicted it, maybe—"
He stopped himself.
The silence between them wasn't heavy this time. It was thoughtful. Honest.
Yuki turned her sketchpad toward him. "Try sketching this cloud. Just follow the shapes."
Ren picked up a pencil like it was a foreign object.
His attempt was clumsy—too stiff at first, but with a strange charm in its imperfection.
Yuki didn't laugh.
Instead, she reached over and gently guided his hand.
"You're pressing too hard. Let it drift."
He glanced at her hand touching his. Her skin was cold from the morning air, but steady. Focused.
She didn't notice him staring.
Ren smiled—not the bright, performative grin he always wore, but a softer, more private one.
"I get it now," he said. "Drawing clouds is like understanding people."
Yuki raised an eyebrow.
He nodded. "They change. They hide things. But if you pay close attention, they'll show you what they're really feeling."
She turned her face away, but not before he caught the faintest blush creeping up her cheeks.
Ren leaned back in his chair. "I'm definitely joining the art club now. You're not getting rid of me that easy."
Yuki didn't answer.
But she added a new cloud to her sketch.
It looked like it was smiling.