Part One
Spring Rain
I don’t remember much about the day we met. That’s surprising, especially since I haven’t been able to let go of the memory for years already. Anyone would probably expect that I remember every single detail about every single thing, but honestly, it’s all blurry and unclear. One thing is clear, though: rain. The thick, heavy drops of possibly polluted water fell continuously without rest that day—it had been so fierce that it was actually difficult to forget.
I had never liked rain in the past. It made my life a bit more tedious, for rain meant extra laundry and time wasted during commute. After that meeting with her, though, things began to change.
~<:>~
The bus was always late on days like these. Inevitably, numerous people fought to cram themselves in the little shelter provided under the bus stop. I was one of those people; I couldn’t afford to dirty or drench my attire. During the struggle to stay dry, I noticed someone—a rather petite figure—standing not too close but not too far away from the bus stop. She was completely drenched; the articles of clothing that she had on appeared to be stuck to her skin and locks of her dark brown hair were plastered to her face. Albeit the noises of tires sweeping through wet cement and people shuffling by her, she stood still with her one arm stretched out in front of her. Her hand was cupped—I guessed that she was trying to get some water on her hands.
Though I hadn’t intended to, I found myself staring at her. She was rather strange and intriguing—no one in the right mind would stand in the rain in the middle of March. Rain during the spring wasn’t dangerous compared to the summer—the downpour season—but the flu was a trend lately and everyone was prone to catch it.
I stared and stared. Oddly enough, it was entertaining. Her lack of movement seemed to tell more stories than the chaos of the city.
I thought that she would look up at the sky forever, but I was wrong. She lowered her gaze and looked ahead; unfortunately, I was right across from her.
Her eyes met mine. It was a very awkward moment, for she didn’t look away or anything. She stood there, returning the gaze and her arm still stretched out in front of her.
It was I that turned out to be the one to lose. With a cough, I blinked several times before turning my back on her. Fortunately enough, the bus arrived, and I was able to escape the scene in a hurry.
The next time that I saw her was about a month later. Spring was slowly fading away and summer was approaching; as if to celebrate, rain—not the pouring type, but the light showers—fell from the sky. As usual, I huddled with the crowd under the bus stop to avoid getting wet. It was after settling down on one spot that I noticed her. She didn’t appear as drenched as before, and her dark brown hair was a bit longer. She stood in the same pose, too.
Afraid of being in another awkward situation, I restrained myself from staring at her. I distracted myself—with my cell phone, the newspaper, and even the passing cars—and succeeded in it. The bus arrived shortly, and I proceeded to get on.
When I took a seat by the window, I glanced at the girl standing on the opposite side of the street. Believe it or not, she noticed, and a short back-and-forth among gazes occurred. However, the bus, having loaded the entire crowd inside, began to move.
Before I tore away from her intent stare, I saw her lips move. It was a small, barely noticeable movement, but I knew what word she had uttered—rain. It was a small, stupid word, but it somehow got to me. It was just two short encounters, but curiosity had taken over me.
I waited on the bus stop every morning for nearly a year to get to see her face. I couldn’t help but be excited when the forecast predicted rain. Spring and summer had already flown by, though; there were light drizzles once in a while, but that was it.
She never showed up.
At first, I was disappointed. Then, I began to hope. Hope sooner or later disappointed me, and the cycle repeated until finally, I was angry. The subject of my anger was something that even I didn’t know. I was unsure if I was angry at myself, at her, or at rain. This overwhelming emotion slowly built up—a little by little—each and every time I failed to see her standing across from the bus stop.
When the year passed like that, spring returned. Accompanying the season of blossom was none other than her. On the first day of spring rain, she was there, standing in her usual pose. She wore thicker clothes, which for some reason reassured me, and her hair was shorter, probably the result of a trim.
As I waited for the public transportation to arrive, I stared—no, glared—at her. There was only one thought present in my head: “How could she appear and disappear as she pleases when I had no other choice but to wait for her for a year?” I repeated this question again and again and again, hoping it would somehow be answered. It wasn’t.
Finally, the moment that I had been waiting for came to be. Her eyes met mine. At the same time, the bus arrived, but I had already deemed it as insignificant. A minute or two of intense exchanging of gazes passed, and being the short-tempered one, I strode across the street. At last, I was just less than a foot away from her.
I had actually dreamt of this moment many times before—I even prepared a list of questions and sentences that I would say to her. But, once this moment had actually occurred, I blanked out completely. The tower of anger and frustration inside me tumbled down and pulverized into ash, and in its place was the emotion that I had towards her the first time we met: curiosity.
It was I that broke the silence between us. I told her that my name was Wooyoung and that I had been waiting for her for a long time.
She nodded. “I think I have been waiting, too.”
Yes, this is a oneshot. I think it'll be divided into three or so parts, though. I hadn't touched this story in a while, but I thought that I should probably finish it as soon as possible. It was my first attempt at WooU, so I hope you guys enjoy it.
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