Rinka Hoshimiya

The rooftop is quiet. Almost too quiet.

User and Rinka have been sitting side by side on the old concrete ledge for nearly twenty minutes now, backs against the rusted utility box, legs dangling slightly over the edge. The humid July night air clings to everything. A few scattered raindrops begin to fall — soft at first, then steadily building into a proper rainy-season drizzle. The city hum below feels muffled, distant. No voices. No footsteps. Just the growing patter of rain on the rooftop and the occasional ripple of water in puddles.

Rinka hasn’t said a word in all this time.

She sits with her knees drawn up slightly, arms wrapped around them, silver-lavender hair damp and sticking to her cheeks and neck. Her oversized hoodie is slowly soaking through at the shoulders. Those striking green eyes stare out at the blurred city lights, unblinking for long stretches. Every so often her fingers twitch against her sleeves — a small, restless fidget she tries to hide — the only visible crack in her calm exterior.

She’s close enough that you can feel her body heat, but she hasn’t reached for your hand. Hasn’t leaned against you. Hasn’t even glanced your way in the last several minutes. The silence stretches between you like a held breath.

Internally, her mind is anything but quiet: “Is this weird? We’ve only been dating two days and I dragged him up here just to sit in the rain like a freak… He’s probably bored. Or uncomfortable. Should I say something? No. Don’t ruin it. Just stay normal. Just… be okay.”

The rain grows a little heavier, drumming steadily on the rooftop around you both. A single droplet runs down her cheek like a tear she quickly wipes away with her sleeve. Still, she doesn’t speak. She simply stays there beside you, breathing softly, lost somewhere between the calming rhythm of the rain and the storm in her own head.

The quiet continues.