Echoes of the Rain

Our secret happiness

Yohan's voice trembled slightly as he continued, "You know... sometimes, it feels suffocating. Like I can't breathe. Watching Jiho suffer because of my mother... and knowing I'm just standing there, helpless, unable to do anything for him. I feel trapped, stuck in this place where no matter what I do, someone I care about is getting hurt. It's like being caught in a storm with no way out."

I didn't know what to say to comfort him. The weight of his words hung heavy in the air between us. Before I could find any words, Yohan leaned his head on my shoulder, and I felt him sigh, a long and exhausted breath, as if he had been carrying this burden for far too long.

"My mother promised me... as long as I do my best in my studies, she'll let Jiho stay," he murmured. "So I study hard, push myself to the edge because it's the only thing I can do for him... the only way I can protect him. But it's so hard, Yuri. So hard."

He paused for a moment, as if gathering his thoughts, then whispered, "Promise me, Yuri... promise me you'll never tell Jiho any of this. He... he doesn't know. I don't want him to know. It would only make things worse. He already has enough on his plate, and... if he knew I was doing all this, trying to protect him, he'd feel guilty. And I don't want that."

I could feel the warmth of his head resting against my shoulder, the slight weight of it, and I could hear the desperation in his voice. "Promise me, Yuri," he repeated, his tone almost pleading now. "Promise me you'll keep this between us."

I swallowed, feeling the gravity of his request. "I... I promise, Yohan," I whispered. "I won't say a word to Jiho."

He let out a shaky breath, relieved, but his body still felt tense. "Thank you... it means a lot. It really does. I just... I wish things were different, you know?"

There was a deep sadness in his voice, and for a moment, it felt like the whole world had quieted around us. I squeezed his hand gently, hoping it would convey the comfort I couldn't put into words.

As time flowed by, without us even realizing it, we grew closer. Every day, we met after my shift, finding solace in our secret little world by the piano. In college, though, we were just like any other classmates. We barely spoke, keeping a safe distance. I didn't want to draw any unwanted attention to myself. Yohan's popularity was like a blazing sun-he was always surrounded by people, radiating warmth and light no matter what.

Everyone wanted to be close to that light, to bask in its glow, but I was content with my place in the shadows. I didn't need to stand beside him in the daylight where everyone could see. Our quiet moments, hidden from the world, were enough. There was something comforting about knowing that when the crowd dispersed, and the sun began to set, I was the one who got to see the softer side of him, away from the noise, away from all the expectations.

Yohan was like a magnet, drawing people in effortlessly with his charisma, his laughter, and that unyielding smile. But for me, it wasn't the light that drew me to him; it was the shadows he hid behind, the vulnerability he only showed when no one else was looking.

Our secret happiness couldn't last forever; the world had a way of reminding us of its demands. Finally, the exams loomed over us, casting a shadow over our small moments of peace. Everyone was busy with preparation, the usual chatter in the hallways replaced by the quiet hum of anxious study sessions.

In the music room, Yohan looked worried as he muttered, "Next week is our final exams... I haven't even started preparing for them."

"Yeah, time flies so fast," I replied, trying to keep my tone light, but there was a knot of worry in my stomach, too.

Yohan grinned, "Let's do our best, okay, Miss Topper?"

I sighed, feeling the weight of my thoughts. "You know, Yohan, this exam is more important to me than for most other students... If I don't get the scholarship, I'll have to pay the fees, which is a really big deal for me."

Yohan's smile faded slightly. "Yeah, I know..." he said softly.

His hand tightened around mine, a silent reassurance. I could feel the tension in his grip, his unspoken worry. I knew this was important for him too, for reasons he hadn't fully shared. Maybe he needed to prove something to himself, to his mother, or maybe it was about Jiho, or perhaps it was all of that and more.

We sat there for a moment, letting the weight of our responsibilities settle between us. The piano keys, silent now, seemed to echo the uncertainty of what lay ahead.

Two weeks later, the exam hall buzzed with a mix of nerves and anticipation. The air was thick with the scent of freshly printed papers, and the sound of rustling pages filled the room as students hurriedly flipped through their notes one last time. The invigilators walked slowly between the rows, their footsteps echoing against the cold, tiled floor. Some students tapped their pens against their desks, a rhythmic tick-tick-tick that seemed to sync with the quickening beats of anxious hearts. The tension was palpable - a quiet storm of whispered prayers and darting glances at the ticking clock on the wall.

And finally, it was over. A collective sigh of relief seemed to ripple through the campus. The exhaustion of sleepless nights gave way to a newfound freedom, a sense of lightness in the air. During this intense period, Yohan and I had agreed not to meet - to focus on our studies without distractions. It was a silent pact, and I respected it, even though I missed our little moments together.

At the bookstore, I ran into Jiho. He seemed calmer than usual, though a bit tired around the eyes.

"How did your exams go?" he asked.

"Hmm... pretty good," I replied, trying to keep my tone even. "What about you?"

He shrugged. "The same as always."

Our shift ended, and I couldn't help but feel a rush of excitement. I made my way up to the upper floor, eager to see Yohan again after so long. I missed the easy smiles, the jokes, the comfort of his presence. As I approached the music room, I heard the familiar melody drifting through the door.

I pushed the door open quietly and saw Yohan already there, seated at the piano, his fingers dancing across the keys. His expression was focused yet relaxed, completely absorbed in the music. It was as if he was pouring out all the pent-up energy and emotions of the past two weeks into the melody. I stood by the door for a moment, not wanting to interrupt. It felt like witnessing something private, a little piece of his soul laid bare.