"The hand that Sean had tightly clasped in his own—I gently freed it from his grip. His focus had shifted to the shoes, and taking advantage of the moment, I did what needed to be done.
That poor shoe… it was fighting for its final breath, clinging to the railing, struggling to survive the wrath of the storm and rain.
Its protector—its mother—was reaching out to save it, her hand stretched desperately towards it. But just then, a slightly less-than-wise man pulled her hand away before she could catch it… and that poor shoe, which had narrowly escaped once, was now heading back toward its doom.
It was just about to fall—pushed by the heavy rain and howling winds—it was on the edge… when I suddenly grabbed it.
It fluttered against the railing like a frantic little bird, flapping here and there, shaken by the fierce wind and relentless downpour."
.
"Poor thing! It must've finally felt a moment of peace."
Sean looked at me—his face held a confused expression, as if startled, unable to grasp what was happening.
The rain was pouring with full force, drenching everything in its path.
"You... you weren't trying to jump off the cliff ?
He raised one eyebrow cautiously as he asked, like someone carefully pondering something serious.
I looked at him, let out an irritated, slightly exasperated fake laugh, and replied,
"Ha! I wasn't trying to jump. Life, to me, is a deeply precious companion—separating from it would feel like separating from everything. Why would I let it go for no reason at all?"
As the heavy rain lashed against me, I stood facing him and spoke those words.
Then I lowered my face slightly, thoughtful, and said carefully,
"As long as life exists, troubles will come too. But I don't want to surrender to them. I just want to fight... but—"
I turned to him again. He was looking at me intently, as if my words were some kind of dreamy spell—or perhaps, just soft, useless emotions.
"…But… why am I even telling you all this?"
He was still looking at me—without saying a word.
There was no trace of a smile or playfulness on his face now.
Just a calm, unreadable expression… as if my words were turning into a melody for him, a rhythm—
A reflection of pain, joy, and something almost magical shining through.
I couldn't understand why he was just standing there like that.
Why wasn't he saying anything?
And… did he actually like what I was saying?
I don't know what suddenly happened, or what stirred in my mind, but I blurted out,
"But yes! If I stay here for a bit longer, I might really fall down…
And not by choice—but from dizziness… from the cold. It's gotten colder now. So I'm leaving.
You stay right here, if you want!"
He seemed startled by my sudden words,
and just as he opened his mouth to say something,
I walked past him.
For a moment, I thought he might walk beside me…
but even after a few steps, I heard nothing—no movement.
I felt like looking back… but then… I let it go.
I walked ahead, through the shivering rainfall, my steps quick and sharp, splashing through puddles.
But then—
I heard someone shouting behind me.
Not with anger…
but with something else.
Something that felt… like emotion.
"But where are you going? In this kind of rain, how will you get home?"
It was Sean.
I didn't respond to anything he said.
Without a word, I kept walking.
I hadn't gone far when I reached a spot where four tall, thick pillars held up a heavy triangular roof—painted a deep shade of red.
Beneath that roof stood a large, sturdy wooden bench. It looked a little old, but strong.
The roof had given it shelter… just like it gave me now.
As the night deepened, so did the cold.
The storm and wind grew stronger, and now a thin mist had started to spread in the air.
The chill was slowly creeping deeper into me.
My long black hair—soaked—had come completely loose and were scattered down my back.
My pale skin had gone slightly numb from the cold.
Lowering my small face, I quietly sat down on the wooden bench and bowed my head.
Sitting there, a thought struck me:
Where is Sean Wood? Why hasn't he come here yet?
It's not like he doesn't know this spot…
Did he go home?
But in this rain… how? Won't he fall sick?
Did I… say something to him that hurt him?
Maybe that's why he left?
But no… the way he looked—it didn't seem like he was the type to just walk away like that.
Shameless guy… but still…
Should I just check once? Just once?
I was about to get up—
when I heard footsteps.
And then—his voice:
"You're here?"
"I thought you left," he said.
In my mind, I smirked.
I thought he'd feel a little embarrassed or awkward. But no… not even a bit!
Without lifting my head, I replied,
"My house is really far from here. And the only way down is through the stairs, which right now are absolutely unsafe. So, no—I'm not going anywhere. I'm not exactly fond of dying, you know."
He looked at me for a moment and said,
"Can't you talk to me a little more nicely?"
Then after observing me a bit more, he added,
"But… from the way you look right now, you still don't seem okay. Are you cold?"
"Don't talk to me."
"And yes—since you were standing out in the rain with me and getting drenched too, maybe you should stop worrying about me and start paying attention to yourself," I said in a low voice.
He was standing beside one of the red pillars, water dripping from his clothes like a steady stream.
He shook his wet hair out, and walked a few steps closer.
Then, without a trace of concern—just casual indifference—he said,
"I'm absolutely fine. If you don't believe me, feel free to take a good look—
I'm not shivering, I'm not exhausted."
"I am fit and fine, boy!"
(Ugh, I swear I could smack him on the head.)
I lifted my head just a little and looked at him.
Honestly, he looked way better than me in this situation—
because I was literally covered in goosebumps from the cold.
And no, this wasn't some movie scene or a romantic novel where a handsome guy offers his jacket to the girl to keep her warm.
Nope.
Here, the handsome guy was completely drenched himself and hadn't even asked me if I was okay.
Well… this isn't a story. And we're not some hero and heroine.
Still, when I looked at him a little more closely—
he looked breathtaking.
His wet clothes clung to his body, outlining his frame.
His thick, slightly wavy black hair had gotten even darker in the rain, curling more at the ends.
And those deep, wide eyes…
they were looking right at me.
Which, to be honest, felt a bit… weird.
Then I saw his lips part slightly, and he spoke:
"Well, if I fall sick… it's totally going to be your fault.
Because if you hadn't been standing up there like you were about to jump, I wouldn't have had to try and save you…
and then you wouldn't have fallen on me… and I wouldn't be standing here looking like I just escaped a drowning scene."
I heard what he said…
and without even thinking, I snapped:
"I've already told you this ten times, but fine—let me say it again.
Maybe you've got some kind of old-person memory problem or something."
I sat up a little straighter and added with sharp clarity:
"I. Was. Not. Jumping. From. There.
That was not some amusement park ride made for kids to swing off for fun!
Got it?
My foot slipped. That's it. So please listen carefully this time."
Then I softened my voice—just a little:
"Also… thanks again. For saving me.
I didn't mean to send you to the hospital or something. I just… fell by mistake."
I looked at him and continued,
"But still—you were standing there, right? You could've left.
You didn't have to talk to me.
So technically, I'm not the one making you sick. Okay?"
I raised an eyebrow.
"You really think you'll fall sick because of me?"
"Yeah," he replied, cool and guilt-free.
(This guy is shameless.)
Then he said,
"You could've walked away too… but you didn't.
And I stood there because… I was scared you'd try jumping again."
That… hit me.
Hard.
I knew—
when someone believes another person might try to end their life, they stay,
they stop them,
they make sure they don't try again.
That's what Sean Wood was doing.
But…
I don't want to think about that too much.
It feels strange.
Too strange.
And yet—
no matter what the reason, someone cared.
Someone thought about me.
Even if… it was just out of human decency.
I didn't know what to say to him…
so I just got up quickly and walked outside.
He looked like he was about to say something,
but maybe he didn't know what to say.
There was a kind of stunned confusion in his eyes.
Outside, the rain had slowed a little, but the wind had picked up—loud and sharp.
I spotted a few stones lying around—heavy ones, soaked by the rain.
Something about seeing them sparked an idea in my mind.
I searched through them under the flickering glow of the lamp,
picked out two smooth, solid ones that fit well in my hands.
Then I came back inside.
Just a bit away from the bench, I noticed two small, dry-looking sticks lying on the floor—thin and weak, but dry.
Lucky.
I placed the stones carefully to one side,
picked up the sticks with a bit of hope fluttering in my chest,
and laid them in a little crisscross shape, like a tiny woodpile.
Then, I started striking the stones together over the sticks—again and again, fast and focused.
Sean Wood was now sitting on the bench,
his head tilted back, resting quietly against the edge.
He hadn't noticed me yet.
I kept trying to make a spark.
The fire wasn't catching.
No matter how hard I rubbed the stones together, no flame appeared.
But my hands were warming up from the effort.
Still, I kept going.
I didn't stop—
because the one who works hard is the one who succeeds.
Just then, I heard the soft sound of footsteps behind me.
He stood quietly, watching me from above, and when I looked up at him—
he broke into a laugh.
I frowned.
"What are you doing?" he asked, still chuckling.
"I'm trying to make a fire. Can't you see?" I muttered.
"This isn't the Stone Age, you know," he said, amused.
"So why exactly are you rubbing stones together?"
I turned to him, my expression serious.
"Because I am cold," I replied plainly.
"And you were getting sick because of me."
I looked straight at him.
"And also—just so you know—we can't go home right now.
I'm freezing, and if you get sick because of me,
so , well... this is the best option."
He raised an eyebrow slightly.
"Right," he said, still calm, still amused.
"But tell me something, O fire goddess—how exactly do you plan to make fire with wet stones?"
I ignored his sarcasm, didn't even glance at him,
and just went back to rubbing the two stones together.
For a spark.
Just one spark.
But the spark… it must have been shy,
because it still didn't come out.
I kept rubbing the stones harder and faster.
There was sound, yes—but nothing more.
No spark.
No light.
No fire.
Sean Wood had now sat down beside me on the bench,
and I heard his voice calmly break the silence:
"It's not going to light."
I didn't stop.
Winners are the ones who never give up.
And I was one of them.
Still, I kept rubbing.
Again, his voice, this time with the same calm tone:
"It's not going to light."
Without looking at him, I replied sharply,
"And just so you know—neither of us has a phone.
So we can't even call for help if this storm gets worse."
Just then, he said quickly—like a lightbulb went off in his head,
"I do have a phone, actually. But—"
His words trailed off with a kind of sudden hesitation.
Before he could finish, I snapped my head toward him,
rolled my eyes dramatically, curled my upper lip slightly in irritation,
and gave him a sharp, annoyed smile.
"What have you been doing this whole time, then?"
I asked, voice filled with exasperation.
"You had a phone all along and didn't think to call someone?"
I leaned in slightly, annoyed.
"Well, go on then—call someone! Now!"
He looked at me and said calmly,
"The battery's dead.
You really should've let me finish my sentence.
Next time, try listening."
(I swear, I actually want to punch him right now.)
I was exhausted from trying to light that fire.
But forget a fire—there wasn't even the tiniest spark.
Not even a flicker.
I threw the stones aside in frustration,
stood up,
and went to sit on the bench.
Sean walked forward a few steps
and sat down at the far end of the bench,
leaving some space between us.
I looked at him.
He looked at me.
My face must've shown the fatigue.
His expression, though…
I couldn't quite read it.
Then, suddenly, he reached out his hand and said,
"So…
Can I know your name now?
I mean, I did save your life."