I want to curse myself for the stammer, for the pathetic attempt at conversation. For years, I’ve learned that speaking only leads to disappointment. It’s better to say nothing at all. But there’s something about the way he’s looking at me that makes me not care for once.
“My mother likes the rain,” he says finally, his voice quieter than I expected. He doesn’t look at me when he says it, and I’m grateful for it.
“So does mine,” I admit.
I don’t know why I say it. It’s not a lie, but it feels strange on my tongue, like a memory that doesn’t quite belong to me anymore. There was a time when she loved me. When she loved both Berlin and me equally. She used to take us outside, let us dance in the downpour, laugh as the sky spilled over us. But that was another life. Another version of her. One that no longer exists.
Kai looks at me then, really looks at me, and I watch as the rain drips from his hair, runs down the sharp angles of his face. Then, instead of speaking, he nods toward me—toward my arm.
To the blood. The scars.
“You did that?” His voice is flat, but not careless the way it usually is.
I don’t answer. I don’t know how.
“W-what happened to y-you?” I say instead, worried despite myself. I don’t even know why. He and I hardly interact.
Kai looks away. His jaw tightens, his gaze shifting to the sky before he exhales sharply and leans his head back against the tree.
“You know, pain won’t make them love you,” he says. “It’ll just prove they never did.”
I suck in a breath, my fingers curling into fists at my sides. “That’s n-not—”
“That’s not what you wanted to hear?” Kai finishes for me, tilting his head slightly. Daring me to lie to myself.
A part of me knows he’s right, that’s why I don’t reply when he says it.
Kai watches me for a long moment, his eyes flickering with something I can’t quite name. Then he shifts slightly, the distance between us closing just a fraction. “If you’re bleeding forthem, I recommend you stop.”
I laugh, but it’s humourless, broken. “It’s n-not that simple.”
“No,” Kai agrees, nodding slightly. “It’s not. But it’s possible.”
I force myself to look at him, to meet his eyes, even though I don’t want to. “Why are y-you telling m-me this?”
“Because no one told me,” he says with a shrug.
I hesitate before speaking, unsure if I should even ask. “Did you—?” I ask anyway.
“No. My sister,” he reiterates after a beat.
I stare at him, stunned. Wren. I never would have expected.
I guess nothing is ever really how it seems.
“Was this… when you were s-sent away?” I ask carefully, and his gaze locks onto mine, so intense it makes my breath catch.
“After,” he says simply.
I hesitate, then lower myself onto the ground beside him. The rain has settled into a soft drizzle now.
“I’m s-sorry,” I say, and I mean it.
Kai exhales, shaking his head. “I don’t need pity from you.”
I shut my mouth. Maybe it really is better when I don’t say anything.
For a long moment, we sit in silence. Then, finally, Kai speaks again. “It was an orphanage.”
