The Rain Knows the Heart's Gaps
The rain before it rains always seemed to know exactly where the gaps in a person's heart lay. Until morning, the sky had been fine. It was overcast, but that was common enough in this season. Though the wind felt a little damp, most people would have assumed it wouldn't actually rain. Kang Chi-yeol thought the same. Or, more precisely, he wanted to believe it. The period right before opening was a time when even one small variable could shake an entire day. Late boxes caused trouble, tangled delivery schedules made him sensitive, and the mere disappearance of a single roll of tape could turn his stomach. On top of all that, rain would only leave his mood more sodden. So he had deliberately buried himself in work all morning. He reorganized the seasoning ingredients, wiped out the inner compartments of the refrigerator, and neatly arranged the cords near the POS system.
When Jo A-ra arrived and remarked, "Boss, at this rate you could set up a wedding hall before the opening," with a touch of sarcasm, Chi-yeol had no energy left to respond. He needed to at least pretend to be busy so he wouldn't unravel. It was because he didn't want to keep recalling the unfamiliar word jealousy he had written in his notebook yesterday. Writing the word down himself only made it more embarrassing. It felt like the name of an emotion he still refused to acknowledge, and to the current Kang Chi-yeol, it seemed far too large a word. So today he had planned to bury it completely. Under business preparations, the smell of chicken, floor cleaning, checklists. The problem was that the heart was not the sort of thing that could be covered so obediently.
Just past noon, a faint darkness began to settle across the alley floor. Sunlight was still present, yet at some point the color of the building walls had started to sink. Kang Chi-yeol stood in front of his shop and looked up at the sky. The clouds hung low, and each time the wind blew from afar, something like the scent of rain brushed past.
"It couldn't be..." he muttered, almost to himself.
The moment the words left his mouth, the sound of a neighboring shutter rising reached him. Kang Chi-yeol turned his head reflexively, and this time he did not bother denying the reaction itself.
Lee Do-hee was alone today as well. A deep gray shirt and black apron. Her hair was tied back in a modest ponytail, and instead of a file she carried a box cutter and measuring tape. The fact that the sight had become so familiar felt strangely unsettling. He still knew almost nothing about her, yet Kang Chi-yeol had already memorized the rhythm of how Lee Do-hee opened her shop: raising the shutter, opening the door, venting the inside air once, checking the condition of the outer floor, then stepping inside. When a person repeats the same actions, they quickly form a rhythm. And the moment one begins remembering someone else's rhythm, emotions are drawn a little closer without permission.
Do-hee began work with her usual economical movements. She entered the store, opened a box, temporarily affixed menu board samples to the wall, peeled them off again, and adjusted their positions. Then she suddenly glanced outside and looked up at the sky. Almost simultaneously, Kang Chi-yeol looked up as well. The brief overlap of their gestures felt oddly intimate, and he lowered his eyes first, embarrassed.
This was the real problem. Even the simple act of looking at the sky together allowed him to attach private meaning to it all on his own.
Around lunchtime, Jo A-ra appeared swinging a convenience-store plastic bag. Inside were two rolls of gimbap, a triangular kimbap, and canned coffee.
"Boss."
"What is it?"
"It's going to rain."
"I know."
"Then why are you so on edge?"
Kang Chi-yeol closed the refrigerator door. "Because rain is annoying."
"You haven't even started business yet and you're already blaming the weather?"
"It's simply that rain during preparations makes work more troublesome."
A-ra gave a short laugh and glanced toward the glass door. "The neighbor boss was looking at the sky too."
Kang Chi-yeol's reply came a fraction too quickly. "Of course she was."
"You two looked at the same time again, didn't you?"
He turned serious. "Why do you pretend to know everything without even looking?"
"It's written all over your face."
The fact that a person could be read so easily through expression sometimes felt unfair. Kang Chi-yeol said nothing as he tore open the gimbap packaging.
A moment later, the first raindrops fell. They were truly the first drops. One round spot appeared on the alley floor, then another shortly after. From there the intervals shortened rapidly. The sound of drops striking beneath the sign above the glass door, the light moisture brushing the ground, the sight of people quickening their steps. Rain often pretended to hesitate before suddenly committing to its decision. Today was no exception.
Kang Chi-yeol reflexively pushed the two paper boxes he had set out front back inside. If the packaging samples and bundles of flyers got wet, it would be a nuisance. Though they were covered in plastic, he was not the type to trust such measures. Moving them himself was simpler.
When he glanced at the neighboring shop, Lee Do-hee was doing the same. She was hurriedly carrying in the boxes and stool she had temporarily placed outside. The problem was that several menu board drafts had been left standing beside the door. A sudden gust of wind made the papers sway violently all at once.
"Ah..." Do-hee let out a short sound.
In that instant, Kang Chi-yeol's body moved before his mind could catch up. He opened the glass door and stepped quickly to the side. One of the menu drafts was about to hit the ground. He pressed it down first, while Do-hee simultaneously pulled the remaining file folder inward as if embracing it. The paper's edge was only slightly dampened; no real damage had been done.
"Are you all right?" Kang Chi-yeol asked, breathing a little hard.
Do-hee steadied her own breath before answering. "Yes. Thank you."
By then the rain had grown heavier. It no longer looked like a passing shower. The ground was quickly becoming soaked, and wind-driven water was beginning to reach beneath the eaves.
Kang Chi-yeol stepped half a pace inside the doorway, still holding the menu sample. He was now very close to Lee Do-hee. Strands of hair near her temple had come loose from her hurried movements. Instead of her usual crisp neatness, she wore the slightly disheveled face of someone whose breath had been disturbed. Kang Chi-yeol could not understand why the sight looked so vividly beautiful to him.
"This one did not get wet." He showed her the paper in his hand.
Do-hee accepted it. "That's fortunate."
"Is there anything else outside?"
"Just one more box."
"I'll bring it in."
This time Do-hee did not cut him off with "It's fine." Instead she gave a very brief, almost imperceptible nod.
The two stepped outside again, stopping just beneath the edge of the eaves where the rain barely reached. Kang Chi-yeol lifted the large box first, while Do-hee supported a smaller box of props beside him. Between those short movements, wind-driven rain soaked their wrists.
Only after setting the box down inside did Kang Chi-yeol release a long breath.
"That should be everything."
Do-hee shook water from the back of her hand. "You said it wasn't supposed to come today."
"Weather forecasts are the least trustworthy of all, aren't they?"
"True enough."
After those words, both of them laughed briefly, or rather exhaled a shared breath that resembled laughter. Strangely, that restrained sound felt more natural than anything else.
Outside, the world grew steadily darker. Even though it was still daytime, the light seemed to have been completely extinguished; the entire alley sank into gray. Thin streams of rain hung beneath the sign of Kang Chi-yeol's shop, and water fell from the laundromat eaves at regular intervals.
Kang Chi-yeol wiped his damp shirt sleeve once. "Do you have an umbrella?"
Do-hee paused, then shook her head. "No. I was told it wouldn't come."
"I didn't bring one either."
After speaking, both of them laughed again, very briefly, as if confirming some silent pact.
A slightly awkward silence followed. Because of the rain, they had both taken another step inward, standing in the ambiguous space between the two storefronts. They were not pressed together, yet the distance was no longer separated by a glass door either. Rain had a peculiar talent for folding the space between people.
At that moment, Jo A-ra cracked open the door from inside Kang Chi-yeol's shop.
"Boss."
"What?"
"I moved the flyers farther inside so they wouldn't get wet."
"Understood."
A-ra glanced at Do-hee through the gap and added quite naturally, "If the neighbor boss has anything that might get wet, you can bring it over here for a while."
Do-hee gave a short bow. "Thank you."
A-ra smiled brightly. "When it rains, we all have to survive together, right?"
Then she closed the door without any meaningful expression, pretending it was nothing at all.
Kang Chi-yeol found that version of A-ra even more frightening. It was obvious she would tease him about this scene for a long time to come.