When she returned to the present, sunlight was timidly slipping through the heavy curtains.
Rain stirred in the bed, slowly opened his eyes, and pushed himself up halfway, scanning the room with a dazed gaze.
His eyes landed on her—sitting in the same corner he always saw her in. Silent. Still. Like a statue carved from quietude.
In a hoarse voice, as though his throat hadn't known water in days, he muttered,
"Good morning... or is it evening? I've lost track of time."
She said nothing. Only moved with gentle grace, placing a glass of water beside him.
He picked it up, took a sip, and sighed deeply.
"You're still here?" he asked with a bitter chuckle. "How long has it been? A day? Two? A month?"
He looked at her for a long moment, studying her with that faint smirk of ironic amusement.
"You're strange... You don't speak. You don't explain anything. You just sit there and watch me... like a shadow that refuses to leave."
A pause. Then, with a teasing tilt of his lips:
"Are you a girl? Or... a boy?"
She tilted her head slightly and shook it—no.
"It doesn't matter, does it?"
She nodded—yes.
"Do you know me?"
Another nod.
"Since long ago?"
She hesitated, then gave a small nod.
"Were you... watching me?"
She looked at him, silent for a moment. Then nodded again.
"But... why?"
This time, no gesture came. She lowered her gaze to the floor, as if hiding a weight too heavy to name.
Silence lingered between them.
Rain looked at her again. At the stillness that seemed unbreakable. At the way her hands fumbled when holding something. At how she hid behind her silence.
Softly, he said,
"Even though I don't know who you are... or even where I am exactly... I don't hate your presence."
A faint smile brushed his tired face, like warmth sneaking into a long-frozen heart.
"And that... is the strangest thing I've ever felt."
She didn't smile. But her eyes—those eyes long accustomed to death and numbness—shimmered for a brief second.
As if something fragile within her had started to beat again.
Then—like a whisper escaping lips without permission—she murmured, barely audible:
"So do I…"
Her eyes widened. It was the first time she had spoken to him.
Even to herself, her voice sounded foreign—as if she had broken a sacred silence.
She stood up abruptly, her body trembling. A sudden realization striking her like thunder—
She had made a mistake. One she could never undo.
Rain raised his head slowly, disbelief etched into his features.
His eyes searched her, as though he'd glimpsed a mirage.
"Did... did you just speak?" he asked, voice rough with uncertainty.
But she didn't answer.
She turned quickly, slipped out of the room—before he could say another word.
And he remained, staring at the space she'd just left.
Wondering if what he'd heard was real… or a tender illusion born of longing.