The Rain That Lingers
The rain beneath the wet signboard had lingered as if it would never stop, yet once it began to ease, it faded with impossible speed. Kang Chi-yeol thought it was exactly like a person’s heart. Heavy and clinging for what seems like forever, only to quietly withdraw the moment you least expect it. The problem was what it left behind. The soaked ground, the damp air, the puddles collected under the signboard, the droplets still clinging to the eaves. Emotions were always the same. Even when they pretended to pass, the traces remained.
The rain that had been falling since late afternoon noticeably thinned as the sun began to set. The downpour turned to drizzle, and the sound of it striking the alley floor gradually lost its strength. What remained instead was the smell. The scent of wet cement, the musty odor of damp fabric drifting from the laundry shop, and the peculiar blend of frying oil from inside the stores mixed with the savory aroma of tteokbokki broth. Kang Chi-yeol stood at the entrance of his shop and stared outside for a long time. The glow from the signboard stretched long across the rain-soaked pavement. The alley had not yet fallen into complete darkness, but the unmistakable hue of evening had already begun to settle over it.
Jo A-ra was once again organizing bundles of flyers as if nothing had happened. She had been chattering away with a face full of mischief only moments ago, but the moment the situation turned quiet, she silently returned to her own tasks. Watching her, Kang Chi-yeol suddenly thought that people truly had many layers. Even if they seemed light and playful on the surface, in the truly important moments they moved with surprising efficiency and without excess.
And that thought naturally drifted toward Lee Do-hee. Just how many layers did that woman have?
At that moment, the door of the neighboring shop opened. Kang Chi-yeol turned his head almost reflexively. He no longer bothered hiding that reaction. After all, it wasn’t the kind of thing that could be concealed even if he tried. Lee Do-hee stepped out carrying a file folder. She glanced up at the sky where the rain had nearly stopped, then took a step closer to the edge of the eaves. In her hand was the small towel she had borrowed earlier. The stray hairs around her face seemed a little looser because of the rain and humidity, and the sleeves of her shirt still showed faint traces of dampness. It wasn’t a particularly styled look, yet that slight dishevelment somehow made her appear more vivid.
Kang Chi-yeol found himself wanting to stare at the sight for a long time. Then he caught himself and glanced quickly at A-ra. Fortunately, she was looking down, pretending to organize stickers. Of course, the odds were high that it was only pretending. That girl could see and hear everything without making a sound if she put her mind to it. But right now, he didn’t want to worry about it.
Lee Do-hee carefully stepped around the puddles and slowly approached Kang Chi-yeol’s shop. Even though he knew it was because of the towel in her hand, his heart gave an honest, unnecessary thump. It really was an excessively diligent organ.
He opened the door halfway and spoke first.
“It looks like the rain has almost stopped.”
Lee Do-hee came closer and nodded.
“It does.”
Then she held out the towel in her hand.
“Here.”
Kang Chi-yeol reached to take it but paused for a moment when he saw how neatly it had been folded. He had assumed she had washed and dried it. But there wouldn’t have been time for that, so she must have simply wrung out as much water as possible and arranged it carefully. That small touch of neatness was, strangely enough, very much like her.
“Ah, it was fine. You didn’t have to return it so quickly.”
Do-hee replied in a perfectly calm tone.
“It wasn’t urgent, but I feel more comfortable returning borrowed things promptly.”
Of course. Kang Chi-yeol let out a small, inward chuckle. This person really did dislike leaving anything unresolved. Debts, favors, or vague postponements.
He took the towel and asked, “Did you find it useful?”
“Yes. More than I expected.”
“Towels usually are.”
The moment the words left his mouth, he inwardly scolded himself. What kind of answer is “towels usually are”? But Do-hee seemed to find it amusing; the corner of her mouth lifted ever so slightly.
“Boss, you sometimes give really strange answers.”
Kang Chi-yeol smiled awkwardly.
“I’m… usually like that.”
“I know.”
When Do-hee said that, he found himself asking without thinking, “What do you mean?”
She withdrew the hand that had given him the towel and looked at him for a moment. The air of the alley, where the rain had nearly ceased, hung quietly between them.
“You’re good at organizing things, your speech is polite, but sometimes your answers are completely offbeat.”
Kang Chi-yeol was genuinely a little surprised. He hadn’t realized Lee Do-hee had been observing him in such specific detail. Of course, they had spoken quite a bit over the past few days. Door stoppers, coffee, chicken, tteokbokki, the print shop, rain, towels. Even though those small interactions had accumulated, he had still thought of her as merely the owner of the shop next door. But her words just now felt closer to someone who had begun to read him a little.
“Is that how I seem?”
When Kang Chi-yeol asked, Do-hee gave a short nod.
“Yes.”
Then, a moment later, she added lightly, “It’s not bad.”
The moment those words fell, Kang Chi-yeol truly forgot how to respond. It’s not bad. It was nothing special. Not particularly affectionate, nor ambiguously suggestive. Just a very quiet degree of goodwill one might offer when evaluating another person. Yet he didn’t understand why it sank so deeply into him. Perhaps because he had rarely heard words of that kind in his life. He had heard safe, neatly packaged compliments like “You’re diligent” or “You’re kind.” But telling him that even his strange, offbeat answers and awkward politeness were “not bad” carried an entirely different temperature.
Kang Chi-yeol felt the back of his neck grow warm for no reason.
“I see…”
That was all he could manage. At times like this, he really seemed like a man with no talent for words. To think that at forty-one years old, when his heart was shaken, the only thing he could say was “I see.”
Do-hee looked at him for a moment, then—very rarely for her—smiled a little more clearly. It was real. A very brief smile, but not just a fleeting brush across her face; this time her expression actually changed. Kang Chi-yeol felt that moment with painful slowness. The thin smile she had given the day she handed him the door stopper. The subtle smile when she had teased him about the sticker placement. The half-playful expression when she ate the chicken and asked, “There’s another substitute?” Those had all been different in texture. This smile was a little more open toward the person in front of her. For a brief instant, the boundaries had loosened.
And the moment he saw it, Kang Chi-yeol felt his heart quietly sink in a strange way.
Oh no.
The thought came before his mind could catch up. Simply saying she was pretty felt insufficient. Because what he saw in that moment wasn’t merely her appearance, but the atmosphere around her. The expression of a person whose tightly wound work face had momentarily relaxed. The warm side that peeked through, just for an instant, between her usual crisp and orderly lines. He remained silent for too long, staring at her.
Do-hee spoke first.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Ah, it’s nothing.”
“Your expression is strange.”
Kang Chi-yeol reflexively tried to smile.
“It’s because the rain stopped.”
The moment he said it, he genuinely wanted to cover his own mouth. What on earth does “because the rain stopped” mean? Today, as always, he had been completely offbeat. Yet Do-hee laughed again at his words. This time a tiny sound slipped out with it.
“What kind of answer is that?”
Kang Chi-yeol ended up laughing along with her. It was a little embarrassing, a little joyful, and above all, he had no idea what to do with himself. That short burst of laughter seemed to completely change the air between them. Until the rain had fallen, the entire alley had felt damp and cautious, but now only the space between the two people standing beneath the wet signboard felt strangely light.
A moment later, Do-hee closed her lips and looked outside once more.
“It really has stopped now.”
“Yes.”
“I should head back in.”
“Ah, yes.”
“Thank you for the towel. Next time I’ll bring one myself.”
Kang Chi-yeol said without thinking, “If it rains again, you can borrow one then too.”
The moment the words left him, his heart really did drop. That sounded far too obvious. If it rains again. Then too. It almost sounded like a natural promise of the next time. Fortunately, Do-hee didn’t seem to take it too heavily. She blinked as if thinking for a moment, then said,
“Then… I’ll make sure to bring an umbrella next time.”
It was a clean, precise answer. Kang Chi-yeol clearly sensed the line hidden within it. Even if the next time came, she would come prepared. A person whose instinct was caution rather than expectation. Strangely, he didn’t feel disappointed. Rather, the fact that it was so like her made him smile without meaning to.
“That would be better.”
“Yes. You too, Boss.”
With that, Do-hee turned away. After a few steps, she paused in front of her door, turned her head just slightly, and gave him a smile-like nod of farewell. Then she disappeared into her shop.
Kang Chi-yeol remained standing in front of his door for a long time. The signboard light shimmered across the wet ground. Droplets still fell from the eaves beside the laundry shop. Evening had almost completely settled, and the alley was returning to the time when each shop glowed with its own light. Yet Kang Chi-yeol alone could not quite move from that spot. Because the smile he had just seen remained strangely vivid. It hadn’t been a long smile, nor a brightly blooming one. It was only for a moment, the face of someone who had let out a breath they hadn’t realized they were holding. Yet strangely, that brief instant remained clearer than the entire rest of the day.
Jo A-ra opened the door from behind and poked her face out.
“Boss.”
Kang Chi-yeol turned his head as if waking from a dream.
“What.”
“You were completely spaced out for about thirty seconds just now.”
“No I wasn’t.”
“You totally were.”
“I said I wasn’t.”
“Then why are you standing in front of the door like a signboard?”
At that, Kang Chi-yeol finally rubbed a hand down his face. A-ra would never miss a reaction like that. She opened the door wide, stepped out, and asked as if delivering the final blow.
“She smiled, didn’t she?”
Kang Chi-yeol deliberately pretended not to understand.
“Who?”
“The owner next door.”
“Just a little.”
“A little?”
“Yeah.”
“Boss, you look like you could live off that one little smile for three whole days.”
Kang Chi-yeol genuinely wanted to argue, but even while searching for a rebuttal, he knew she was right.
“People can smile, you know.”
“Sure. But the problem is that she smiled at you, Boss.”
“Do you really have to put it that way?”
“Why, am I wrong?”
A-ra looked at him with expectant eyes. Kang Chi-yeol lowered his head and said very quietly,
“She was pretty.”
The words came almost unconsciously. Only after they left his mouth did he realize what he had said. Jo A-ra froze, then the next moment clapped both hands over her mouth.
“Whoa.”
“What?”
“What did you just say?”
Kang Chi-yeol felt heat rush all the way to his ears.
“Pretend you didn’t hear that.”
“No way, this is a historic moment.”
“Stop making history out of everything.”
“No, seriously… that was the first time it came out of your mouth, Boss. ‘She was pretty.’”
Kang Chi-yeol squeezed his eyes shut. He no longer had the strength to deny it. The words had slipped out so naturally. Without any calculation at all. It was probably the most accurate evidence of exactly where his heart had arrived.
Jo A-ra giggled for a while before softening her expression a little.
“Boss.”
“What.”
“This is getting a bit dangerous now.”
Kang Chi-yeol let out a small laugh.
“I know.”
There was no strength in his answer. It wasn’t denial, nor was it a joke. It was simply the voice of someone who truly understood. It’s dangerous. Because now Lee Do-hee was no longer simply the owner of the tteokbokki shop next door. The mouth that had pointed out the state of his oil, the eyes that had looked over the menu board with him, the way she refused to leave debts behind, and today, that smile that had briefly relaxed beneath the wet signboard. All of it was becoming clearer and clearer as one person. Kang Chi-yeol had always been weak to that kind of clarity. Especially if that person understood his work and even told him that his strange answers were not bad.
A-ra stopped teasing him. Instead, she spoke in a very realistic voice.
“Still, you haven’t even opened yet.”
The words sounded like a strangely important baseline. Before opening. That was right. They were both frantically preparing to start business, and nothing was stable yet. Kang Chi-yeol nodded.
“I know.”
“And the owner next door… doesn’t seem like an easy person.”
“I know that too.”
“But the fact that you’re smiling anyway means it’s even worse.”
At A-ra’s words, Kang Chi-yeol laughed very quietly. She was right. Because she wasn’t easy, she occupied his mind more, and that made the moments when she smiled linger even longer.
When he returned home that night, he opened his notebook again. Below the opening preparation checklist, the tasks still to be done were written out, and realistic items like reshooting menu photos, drafting first-day event copy, and final checks for the delivery app were lined up in a row. Yet today as well, Kang Chi-yeol eventually wrote something else in the margin beneath them.
The face that smiled after the rain stopped
She doesn’t smile often
That’s why it lingers longer
After writing those three lines, he held the pen for a long time. Then, very small, almost like a sigh, he added one more line.
I almost started to like her a little
The reason he chose the words “almost” was clear. It was like giving himself one last chance to say: not yet, I can still stop here. But Kang Chi-yeol knew. People’s hearts were often already halfway gone by the time they wrote “almost.”
He closed the notebook and stared at the ceiling for a long time. The face that had smiled beneath the wet signboard kept floating up before him. The fact that one short, passing smile could remain this long probably meant this feeling was heading toward a more dangerous place than he had thought. And strangely, that fact felt both a little frightening and a little joyful.