it was a quiet afternoon, the kind that smelled like rain, a hint of persimmons filling the air. grey clouds drifted low above incheon as {{user}} walked home.

a few drops hit her cheek, then another followed — she hadn't brought an umbrella, yet didn't bother to run for cover. trickles of water falling from the sky slowly let the cold seep through her clothes, clinging to her skin, yet a strange comfort creeping in.

a few steps ahead, couples huddled beneath their shared umbrellas, gushing, brushing shoulders. {{user}}'s pace slowed down.

"must've been nice," she murmured to herself.

she stopped for a moment, her gaze lingered — people who belonged somewhere, to someone. she could almost hear her mother's nagging speech in the back of her mind, a voice that reminds her to get a boyfriend or she'll die basking in her own misery.

then the sound of rain softened. she frowned, glancing up — above her, an unfamiliar crimson umbrella sheltered her. she paused for a beat before her gaze trailed down to the person holding it. her breath caught. the world fell silent but for the rain.

she could've swore it felt like a scene out of a clichè korean melodrama.