The storm outside mirrored the chaos stirring inside Rika's heart. Rain poured down in torrents, drumming against the windows of the academy like an anxious heartbeat. The entire campus was quieter than usual, with most students tucked away in their dorms, sipping hot tea or scrolling endlessly through their phones. But Rika wasn't in her room.
She was sitting under the covered walkway near the old auditorium, legs pulled to her chest, drenched in thoughts. Her music notebook lay open on her lap, its pages damp from the mist. She hadn't written a single note.
Footsteps echoed.
"I thought I'd find you here."
It was Kaori.
Rika didn't lift her head. "Do you just know where everyone hides?"
Kaori smiled, stepping under the shelter beside her. She was holding two cups of hot chocolate, steam curling from their rims. She offered one to Rika, who accepted it without a word.
"I used to come here too," Kaori said, gazing into the rain. "Back when I was a student. This spot catches every sound of the storm, but none of the wind."
"I like the way it sounds," Rika murmured. "It's like the world's playing a symphony, but only I'm listening."
They sipped in silence for a while. Then Rika turned to her teacher. "Ms. Kaori… are you happy here?"
Kaori was quiet for a long moment. Then she answered, "I am. Not because it's perfect, but because it's real. Real people. Real pain. Real joy. It's more than enough."
Rika traced a finger along the rim of her cup. "It doesn't feel like enough for me sometimes."
Kaori looked at her. "Then maybe your 'enough' is waiting for you to build it."
That struck something inside Rika. She blinked away the moisture in her eyes, unsure if it was from the rain or something deeper.
"I keep pretending I'm strong," Rika whispered. "But inside, I'm just… scared. Of failing. Of falling apart. Of being too much… or not enough."
Kaori set her cup down. "Then don't pretend with me."
Rika turned. Their eyes met. There was no lesson plan here. No rules. No expectations. Just two souls suspended in the hush of a storm.
"You don't have to be strong all the time," Kaori continued. "You just have to be honest."
"I don't know how to be."
Kaori reached into her coat pocket and pulled out an old folded photo. She handed it to Rika. In it, a younger Kaori stood on the same walkway, soaked in rain, holding a broken violin.
"That was me after my first stage collapse," Kaori said. "I ran here, thinking my world had ended."
Rika stared at the photo, her lips trembling. "What happened after?"
"I found someone who didn't walk away. She sat with me in the rain until I could hear music again."
Rika looked at her, and for the first time, really saw her — not as a teacher, not as an idol, but as a woman who'd once been lost too.
Thunder rumbled overhead, but neither flinched.
"I want to write a song," Rika said softly. "But not just any song. A confession."
Kaori raised an eyebrow. "To whom?"
Rika smiled faintly. "To myself."
Kaori stood and extended her hand. "Then let's get to work."
Rika took her hand, rising slowly. The storm hadn't stopped, but it no longer felt like a threat. It felt like a rhythm — a background to a new beginning.
As they walked back toward the music room, side by side, Kaori said, "One day, you'll teach someone else how to find their melody in the silence."
"And I'll tell them," Rika said, voice strong now, "that someone once sat with me in the rain — and made me believe my music mattered."
The music room awaited them.
And so did the song yet to be written.