A Single Umbrella
The rain streaks down the living room window. It was clear this morning, but the sky darkened around lunchtime, and now it's pouring in earnest. Can late May rain really come down this hard? The wind drives the drops against the glass, filling the entire living room with their sharp rhythm.
I pause the stylus over my tablet and glance outside. I'd been working on a fantasy novel cover, but I can't focus. Rainy days are nice. The sound of rain makes it impossible to concentrate. The illustration isn't coming together at all.
Since that night two days ago, I haven't run into Seojin directly. One bottle of Chilean wine still sits untouched on the dining table. The other bottle she brought that night we finished together, and I'd already tossed the empty into the recycling bin. Only her message lingers in my head: Next time, I'll go all the way.
The day had passed like that.
My phone buzzes. A message.
That's so like Dain. The rain is falling, so she just had to say it's raining.
I turn off the tablet and head to the kitchen. Tofu, potato, zucchini, onion, green onion. I set a pot of anchovy broth on the stove. I dissolve the doenjang in it, and once it starts boiling, I add the potatoes first. The rain grows heavier. The sound of it drumming against the windows creates its own rhythm. The doenjang jjigae simmers. I skim off the foam, add the tofu and zucchini, then sprinkle in the finely chopped green onion.
Looks like I'll be eating alone today.
I ladle out a bowl and eat it with rice. It turned out well. The rich, savory flavor of the doenjang. The potatoes are perfectly tender, and the tofu is piping hot. The taste is fine, but something feels missing.
While washing the dishes, the view outside grows even darker. I check the clock—six thirty. This is usually when Seojin brings Yuri home. I glance at my phone. No messages from her. None yesterday, none today. Ever since that night, she's been keeping her distance. It leaves me feeling unsettled.
I type out a message.
One minute. Two minutes. Three minutes. No read receipt. She must not have seen it. Is the cafe busy? Or is she already on her way to pick up Yuri?
I rise from the chair mid-meal. I grab an umbrella. At the entrance, I slip on my sneakers.
What are you doing, Han Siu?
Going out to meet her? Meeting the woman next door just because it's raining? Why?
But I'm already holding the umbrella and opening the door.
The hallway. The stairs. The first-floor entrance.
The moment I step outside, rain hammers against the umbrella. One umbrella isn't nearly enough. The wind slants the drops sideways, and my lower body starts getting soaked. From the villa to the cafe Gyejeol. Puddles have formed in the alley, turning my sneakers soggy.
I reach the cafe. A notice is taped to the glass door saying they've closed early. She must have gone to pick up Yuri. I walk toward the daycare.
The rain intensifies. I tilt the umbrella against the wind, but one shoulder gets completely drenched. Late May is usually warm, but today's downpour has brought a biting chill. The wet fabric clings to my skin.
I don't even know why I'm doing this. I have no proof that Seojin doesn't have an umbrella. I just saw that she hadn't read my message. The excuse is the rain. The truth is the complete silence from her yesterday.
When I turn the corner of one alley, I see them. Seojin and Yuri.
Seojin is carrying Yuri as she walks. The rain must have been too heavy for a five-year-old's legs. Yuri is nestled in her mother's arms, holding a yellow umbrella that barely covers her head. Seojin herself is completely drenched. Rainwater streams down her arms where she holds Yuri, and her hair sticks to her face.
Today Seojin is wearing her cafe uniform—a white blouse and beige skirt. The problem is that the white blouse is now thoroughly soaked.
A wet white blouse. When white fabric gets wet, it turns see-through. The outline of her underwear is clearly visible beneath it. A soft lavender color. Droplets trace the curve from her collarbone down to the line of her breasts, and the clinging wet cloth reveals every contour of her figure.
I force my gaze upward.
"Seojin!"
She lifts her head. Her face is wet with rain.
"Siu...?"
She looks surprised. She's staring at me—standing there in the rain, holding an umbrella.
"Don't you have an umbrella?"
"I only have the one for Yuri... I didn't expect it to rain this hard."
Yuri has buried her face in Seojin's shoulder. I shrug off my jacket. It's a denim jacket soaked on the outside, but the lining is still dry. I drape it over Seojin's shoulders. Her eyes widen.
"Siu, you'll get wet."
"It's fine. Let's share the umbrella."
I tilt the umbrella toward her. It's small. Not nearly big enough for two people. Especially since she's carrying Yuri.
"Come this way."
Seojin steps closer, under the umbrella. Our shoulders touch. Rainwater runs down the jacket, and beneath it I can feel the warmth of her body. It's warm.
"It's Mister!"
Yuri lifts her head from Seojin's shoulder and looks at me.
"Hi, Yuri."
"Why are you here, Mister?"
"I came to meet you."
The words slipped out so naturally.
"Are you meeting Mommy too?"
"Yeah."
"Mister is nice!"
A five-year-old's logic. Anyone who comes out to meet you must be a good person.
Seojin says nothing. She doesn't even look at me. She just walks forward, eyes straight ahead. But I can feel her right shoulder leaning against my left one. We match our steps and head back toward the villa. The sound of raindrops drumming on the umbrella fills the space between us. The silence isn't awkward at all.
From Seojin's wet hair comes the faint scent of soap. Washed by the rain, it's softer than usual, but it's unmistakably her scent.
"Seojin."
"Yes?"
"Isn't your arm tired? Yuri must be heavy."
"It's okay. It's a habit."
A habit. The words pierce my chest—the idea that carrying her daughter alone has become a habit.
"Can I carry Yuri for you?"
"Pardon?"
"Take a break."
Seojin stops. She looks at me, hesitation in her eyes.
"...Alright."
She shifts Yuri into my arms. Yuri wraps her arms around my neck. She's light. The weight of a five-year-old. I hold her with my right arm and grip the umbrella with my left.
"Seojin, come a little closer."
"Like this?"
She presses right up against my left side. Under the umbrella. Her right hand naturally rests on my left arm. This position—walking side by side while sharing an umbrella. From the outside, what would it look like? A man carrying a child, a woman holding his arm, the three of them walking beneath one umbrella. It would look like a family.
"Mommy, Mister is warm," Yuri says, clinging to my neck. Her small fingers grip the back of my neck. They're cold.
"Yuri, are you cold?"
"A little."
"We'll be home soon. Hang in there."
"Okay."
Yuri buries her face in my shoulder. Seojin's hand, which had been stroking Yuri's back, brushes against my arm. Just for a moment. A fleeting touch. But her hand doesn't pull away. It stays there, resting on my arm.
The rain keeps falling.
Haedam Villa comes into view. As we step into the first-floor entrance, the sound of rain fades. I close the umbrella. Seojin starts to take off my jacket.
"Ah, Siu, your jacket—"
"Give it back to me at home. It's wet anyway."
"But—"
"Your blouse is see-through."
I regret the words the moment they leave my mouth. Seojin freezes. Then she looks down at her own blouse. The soaked white fabric. The faint outline of lavender underwear. Her face turns bright red in an instant. All the way to her ears.
"—!"
She seems at a loss for words. She clutches the jacket to herself, wrapping her arms over her chest.
"Did you see?"
Her voice is tiny. Almost a whisper.
"I didn't see."
That's a lie.
"...You did see."
"I really didn't."
"Siu."
"I'm sorry."
Seojin lets out a sigh and grips the jacket even tighter. Her face is still flushed.
"Mommy, why are you red?" Yuri asks, lifting her head from my shoulder. Perfect timing.
"I'm not red."
"You are red though?"
"It's because of the rain."
"Why does rain make you red?"
"When you're cold, you turn red."
Yuri makes a little "Oh~" of understanding.
We climb the stairs. On the second floor, Seojin takes Yuri back from my arms. Yuri whines and tries to cling to my neck again.
"Yuri, let's go. We need to wash up."
"I want to stay with Mister~"
"We'll see each other again soon."
"Tomorrow?"
"Yeah, tomorrow."
Yuri reluctantly lets go of my neck. Seojin stands in front of room 202, holding her. As she takes out her keys, she turns to look at me—still wearing my jacket, wet strands of hair clinging to her cheek, face still flushed.
"Siu."
"Yes."
"Yesterday..." Seojin trails off. She lowers her gaze. "I'm sorry I didn't reply to your message."
"Me too."
"...I didn't know what to say."
"Me too."
Seojin lets out a short laugh. It trembles. Neither of us knows how to handle what happened between us that night. It's so hard to layer a casual daily message on top of the words Next time, I'll go all the way.
"I'm glad it rained today," she says.
"Pardon?"
"Because we got to see each other like this."
So the excuse of the rain and the umbrella had worked the same way for her. The real words she wanted to say had been hiding behind those same words—rain, umbrella, coming to meet. It wasn't just me.
Seojin opens the door to room 202.
"Give it back to me tomorrow. After it's dry."
"...Okay."
The door closes. In the hallway, the scent of her soap and rainwater lingers.
I stand in front of room 201 for a moment. My wet clothes cling to my skin. I open the door and step inside. I change my clothes and stand in the kitchen. The doenjang jjigae has gone cold. I heat it up again.
The warmth of Seojin's shoulder still lingers on my left arm. The place where she held on. The rain continues to fall.
My phone buzzes. A message.
I don't know what to reply with.
I send it and flip my phone face-down. I stare at the ceiling.
A rainy day. One umbrella. Walking home pressed close together. A wet blouse. Warm body heat. A child clinging to my shoulder.
This has gone far beyond the realm of everyday life. It's not the kind of thing you do for the person next door. What we did two nights ago already wasn't something you'd do for the person next door, and today is simply an extension of that.
There are plenty of excuses. But only one real reason.
The thought of Seojin standing alone in the rain again today, after not messaging me at all yesterday, was something I couldn't bear.
Fuck.
It's one in the morning. The rain has eased a little. I remember the single line Chaewon had dropped in the group chat earlier that evening.
Working late tonight, heading home after.
That was all. I take out a pot and pour in some milk. I'd warmed it ahead of time last time too, in the early morning. She never asked me to. She never told me to. But I warm it anyway. Just before it foams, I turn off the heat and stir in a spoonful of honey.
The sound of slippers. They stop at the third floor. I pick up my phone and send a message.
Instead of the doorbell, there's a soft knock. Tap tap. Chaewon's knock. I open the door. She's standing there in a black coat, hair tied back in a messy ponytail with strands falling loose around her face. She looks exhausted.
"Come in."
Chaewon steps inside and sits at the dining table. I set the milk in front of her. She wraps both hands around the mug.
"It rained a lot today, didn't it?"
"It did."
"Did you have an umbrella?"
"I took a taxi."
Chaewon takes taxis. Seojin stands in the rain. Same rain, but everyone handles it differently.
Chaewon takes a sip of milk.
"...It's delicious."
"It's the same every time."
"It's delicious every time."
Chaewon's polite speech. A person who wraps her sincerity in formality. She finishes the milk and stands up.
"Thank you, Siu."
"Sure. Sleep well."
Chaewon pauses at the entrance, as she always does.
"Good night."
The door closes. As I wash the empty mug, I think about it. A rainy Thursday. I went out to meet Seojin, warmed milk for Chaewon. I invited Dain over for dinner, and I haven't heard from Haeun at all. Four women. Four different ways. Four different distances. I'm standing in the middle of them.
The rain finally stops in the early morning.
Seven o'clock Friday morning. The doorbell rings. When I open the door, Haeun is standing there. Eco bag in hand. Bacon and eggs.
"Hey."
"Good morning."
"It was raining yesterday. Why did you go out?"
"...You saw?"
"I saw you leaving with an umbrella when I was coming into the first-floor entrance."
So she saw me going out to meet Seojin. Which means she had just gotten back to the villa at that time too.
"I was bringing her an umbrella."
"To Seojin?"
"Yeah."
Haeun looks at me. Two seconds. Three seconds. Then, as she steps inside, she says one thing.
"Idiot."
She sits at the table, crosses her legs, and folds her arms.
"Just make breakfast already."
Bacon and eggs. I put the bacon in the pan, and when the fat renders, I fry the eggs in it. Salt, pepper. Haeun eats. She's quiet today. She cuts the bacon with her fork, breaks the yolk, and puts it on bread.
"It's good."
One sentence. Her eyes stay on her plate. When she's finished, she stands up.
"Hey."
"Yeah."
"Don't go out when it's raining. You'll get soaked."
The door closes. Don't go out when it's raining. That's Haeun's way of worrying. She doesn't say You'll catch a cold if you get wet, she just says You'll get soaked. She only states the visible fact. She hides the emotion.
I smile as I wash the empty plate. Another day begins. The rain has stopped, but the puddles haven't dried yet. Just like Seojin's jacket. Just like the warmth that still lingers on my arm.