COLD RAIN

CHAPTER 7

Although Pon in the past was not smart and his intelligence was equivalent to that of a young child, he actually didn’t like to cry very much.

He knew he had grown taller and had been in the world longer than those children.

His mother didn’t cry when she was sick and in pain and his brother didn’t cry when he was busy at work.

He was an adult just like them. Crying couldn’t solve any problems and it was very embarrassing.

But for some reason, as long as Sailub was there, he couldn’t help it.

He was crying the first time they met.
It was a spring afternoon, and a ray of the slanting sun swept in along the edge of the window, dividing the drawing paper in front of him into light and dark halves.

The students in the front row were drawing sketches and the rustle of pencils rubbing against the paper made the atmosphere of the entire studio very peaceful.

Pon was sitting in the corner of the back row. The more anxious he felt, the more his hand holding a brush trembled.

The moment the tip of the brush approached the paper, it trembled even more and the lines that came out were crooked, twisted, and very ugly.

He bit his lower lip, controlled his wrist and tried to get rid of the distracting thoughts.

His mother was waiting for him in the hospital, waiting for him to finish his painting of the flowers outside the window to bring to her.

Although everyone kept it a secret from him, he still guessed from his mother’s half-conscious state and the doctor’s expression when he spoke that his mother would leave him soon.

His mother said that she wanted to see the flowers in spring, how could he not satisfy her wish?

Thinking of this, Pon took a deep breath, changed to a new drawing paper and opened his eyes desperately, holding his breath.

Just as he was about to start drawing, there was a slight click behind him.

The window opened, first in a slit, then letting in the pouring sunlight.

Then a figure blocked most of the light, grabbed the edge of the window with both hands, stretched out their long legs and jumped down neatly.

It was an older boy.

The window was very small, but the boy was very tall. It could be seen that it was not the first time that he had done this kind of thing.

When he got into the studio, the boy patted his hands, dusting them off casually, and put one hand back in his pocket.

When he turned around, there was still a trace of triumph on his face that he hadn’t had time to hide.

Then he met Pon’s inquiring gaze.

His expression turned gloomy very quickly, covering a little discomfort and embarrassment, and the boy preemptively stared fiercely: “What are you looking at?”

Pon shook his head, trying to say that he didn’t do it on purpose.

Perhaps the sunlight outside the window was too dazzling. As he blinked, the tears that had been in his eyes for a long time burst out.

The boy obviously didn’t expect to scare someone into crying.

He said “Hey” uncomfortably. He took two steps forward and pulled out his hand from the pocket of his pants to grope the pocket of his school uniform. He didn’t find anything. He said awkwardly: “What are you crying for?”