The sky was gray.
Not the soft gray of sleepy mornings—
But the heavy gray of tears waiting to fall.
By the time school ended, the rain had come.
Pouring.
Cold.
Students ran with bags over their heads.
Some laughed. Some groaned.
Most had umbrellas.
Rin did not.
He stood at the front steps, backpack clutched tight.
Behind him, he heard a small sniffle.
He turned.
A younger student, perhaps in first year, stood by the wall—shivering, soaked, eyes red.
Her umbrella had broken.
Her shoes were wet.
Her voice, when she tried to speak, was too small for anyone to hear.
No one noticed her.
Except Rin.
That night, he entered the Dreambox Shop again.
His footsteps made soft echoes on the wooden floor.
Moonchan looked up.
Kuro was already dozing off atop a pile of books.
"Back so soon?" Moonchan asked gently.
"I need something to help… warm someone," Rin said.
Moonchan nodded once.
From a drawer beneath the counter, he brought out a silver Dreambag.
Inside was a tiny glowing scarf, no longer than a handkerchief, but warm to the touch and radiating calm.
"The Woven Whisper," Moonchan said.
"It wraps the heart, not just the skin."
Rin looked at it carefully.
"And the price?"
Moonchan's eyes turned thoughtful.
"For every warmth you give… you'll carry one sorrow that isn't yours."
Rin paused.
Then nodded.
"I'll carry it."
The next morning, the rain continued.
Rin walked to school, scarf tucked safely in his bag.
At lunch, he found the girl again—still quiet, still alone.
Without a word, he gently draped the tiny scarf over her shoulders.
She blinked.
Eyes widened.
The color returned to her cheeks like spring returning to winter.
She didn't speak.
But she smiled.
And Rin… felt it.
A sudden wave of sadness.
Memories not his own.
Being left behind. Being forgotten. Crying quietly in bathrooms.
The scarf shimmered once.
And then, like the others before, it vanished.
That night, Rin sat by his window, looking at the raindrops slide down the glass.
Shiro curled up at his side.
"You okay?" the dog asked, softly.
"I feel sad," Rin said.
"But… she doesn't anymore."
Shiro nodded.
"That's the right kind of sadness to keep."