COLD RAIN

CHAPTER 10

On the night of the return home, Pon received a call from Aonn, "Why did you leave so soon?"

Pon told him truthfully: "After the competition, I had nothing else to do, so I went home."

Aonn said regretfully, "It's a pity... There's an art exhibition at school this weekend and we were thinking of asking you to come along."

The words "we" reminded Pon of the old acquaintance he met by chance when he was talking to Aonn last time.

He couldn't help but feel nervous. His empty hand clenched into a fist and shrank into his sleeve: "You, just go and see it by yourself, never mind me."

"Never mind you? How can that work, we are old classmates. You left in such a hurry the day before yesterday and we didn't have time to have a meal together. Next time don't you dare to shirk it off."

Hearing that he was as enthusiastic as when they met face-to-face, Pon gradually relaxed.

When they parted, Aonn asked for his mobile phone number but he didn't expect him to call so soon.

At that time, when he saw Michael, Pon was too busy panicking.

Now that he was sitting at home far away from the capital, he felt safe enough to think about this friendship that originally belonged to 'Pon'.

From the few words during their previous chat, Pon noticed that Aonn admired 'Pon'.

He called 'Pon' an "art genius" and there was just a bit of envy but no jealousy in it.

It meant that 'Pon's' talent was recognized by the people around him.

But Pon was different. He started drawing in elementary school simply because he liked it and his family was well off.

No one put pressure on him. He was not motivated to learn and he never compared himself with others.

He could paint whatever he wanted. His level of painting was definitely different from that of 'Pon' who had specialized in painting.

The lack of confidence made Pon very nervous. He was so anxious he felt like hanging up the phone without saying a word.

Aonn on the other end didn't notice anything.

He chatted with Pon about art-related topics.

Seeing that Pon was holding back, unwilling to talk more, he complained, "Pon, what's the matter with you? You weren't like that before. Even though you don't usually talk much, when it comes to painting, you are full of energy. You alone could speak for the whole hour."

Pon was taken aback for a moment. He looked at his reflection in the window glass, unable to imagine this face looking confident and eloquent.

"I, I don't know what to say, no one will listen."

"What do you mean?" Aonn raised his voice, "I listen, we all like to listen. Promise me, if you have time in the future, you must come back to school often."

After hanging up the phone, Pon sat alone in the studio for a long time.

He knew that they liked 'Pon', not him.

No one would like him.

Even though someone once said "like" to him, it was against his will and they had other purposes.

Whose "like" was like that?

Rude, perfunctory, insulting to the extreme. Anyone with a little intelligence could have seen how much he hated him.

Pon walked outside, squatted down in front of the pot of iron jasmine that had been moved indoors because of the cool weather, reached out and touched its dark green leaves, exhaling slowly.