Rain fell softly that afternoon, soaking the streets as they began to empty. The sound of water dripping from the roof was like a rhythm he'd known for a long time, but for some reason, it always managed to make Zavian fall silent longer than usual.
He stood by his bedroom window, watching the front yard slowly grow wet. His hand held a glass of tea he hadn't touched in a long time. Its steam had vanished, but his mind was still full of something he couldn't explain.
There was a strange feeling whenever it rained.
Not ordinary sadness. And not longing with any clear direction, either.
It was as though someone was waiting to be remembered.
"Why do you always zone out there whenever it rains?" a man's voice came from the bedroom doorway.
Zavian turned. Damar stood with his body leaning against the door, a puzzled look on his face.
"Do you ever come in without knocking first?" Zavian asked.
Damar gave a quiet laugh. "I never have. And you're only complaining now?"
"Because you've always been annoying."
"So you still remember that I'm annoying. That's good."
Zavian only shook his head and turned back to the rain.
Damar walked in and sat in the chair beside the desk. He watched his friend, who had seemed lost in thought more and more often over the past few months.
"Still can't stop thinking about that?"
Zavian was silent for several seconds.
"About what?"
Damar raised an eyebrow. "Don't pretend you don't know. That strange feeling of yours."
Zavian drew a slow breath.
"I don't know, Mar. Sometimes I feel like I've experienced something before, but whenever I try to remember it, it disappears."
"Like you've forgotten?"
"Not forgotten."
"Then what?"
Zavian stared at the rain outside.
"Like there's a part that refuses to come back."
Damar fell silent. He knew Zavian wasn't the kind of person who opened up easily. If his friend had said something like that, then something really was weighing on his mind.
"How long have you felt this way?" Damar asked.
"Since I found some old things in the storage room."
"What things?"
Zavian walked over to the small cabinet in the corner of the room. He took out a wooden box whose color had faded with age. The box looked simple, but to Zavian, it seemed to hold something enormous.
Damar watched with curiosity.
"You haven't opened it again?"
"I have."
"And?"
Zavian opened the box slowly.
Inside were several old things: a photograph that had begun to fade, a cloth bracelet, and a small piece of paper folded neatly.
"I found this."
Damar picked up the paper.
"A letter?"
"I don't know."
Damar unfolded it. Handwriting filled part of the paper, but several sections looked as though they stopped in the middle of a sentence.
"Is this your handwriting?"
Zavian took it back.
"Yeah."
"Are you sure?"
Zavian looked at Damar.
"Why do you ask that?"
"Because I've never seen your handwriting look like this."
Zavian looked at the paper again.
The handwriting was his. He recognized the shape of the letters. But the message itself felt unfamiliar.
Several sentences made his chest feel tight.
As though he'd written them in a completely different state of mind.
"I only remember writing something," Zavian said quietly.
"What does it say?"
Zavian didn't answer right away.
"I don't understand it."
Damar moved closer.
"Try reading it."
Zavian looked at the writing once more.
"I'm waiting for the next rain. If you ever read this, it means I failed to tell you everything..."
The sentence ended there.
There was no continuation.
Only empty space.
Damar furrowed his brow.
"Who are you talking about?"
Zavian shook his head.
"I don't know."
"Zav, you wrote a letter to someone, but you don't even know who it's for?"
"That's what scares me."
The room grew quieter.
Only the sound of rain could be heard.
Damar set the paper on the desk.
"Maybe you've forgotten because it was so long ago."
"Maybe."
"But why do you keep thinking about it?"
Zavian stared at the writing.
"Because I feel like something's missing."
Damar didn't reply.
He knew there was more to it than just an old letter.
Night began to fall. The rain hadn't stopped. The bedroom light glowed dimly, making the atmosphere feel even more peaceful.
After Damar left, Zavian was still sitting alone.
He opened the box again.
There was one thing he hadn't noticed before.
A small photograph tucked beneath some old fabric.
Zavian picked it up.
The photo showed him standing in a place he didn't recognize. Beside him stood someone whose face was hidden in shadow because of the poor quality of the photograph.
His heart began to beat faster.
He turned the photo over.
There was a short message on the back.
"Don't forget our promise when it rains again."
Zavian fell silent.
His hand tightened around the photograph.
"What promise?"
There was no answer.
Only the sound of the rain growing heavier.
The next morning, Zavian went to a small roadside stall near the main road. It was a place where he and Damar had usually spent time since their school days.
The stall's owner, a man named Budi, was arranging some goods when Zavian arrived.
"Hey, Zavian. What brings you here so early?"
"Morning, Bud."
Budi smiled.
"You look like you didn't get any sleep."
"I didn't."
"Something wrong?"
Zavian sat in a wooden chair.
"Bud, I want to ask you something."
"Go ahead."
"Have you ever seen me with someone before?"
Budi stopped arranging the goods.
"Someone?"
"Yeah."
Budi appeared to think.
"Why do you ask?"
"I found an old photograph."
"Who was in it?"
"That's the problem. I don't know."
Budi stared at Zavian for a moment.
"Do you remember where the photo was taken?"
Zavian pulled the photograph from his wallet.
Budi took it.
His expression changed slightly.
"Where did you get this?"
"At home."
Budi looked at the photo again.
"You seriously don't remember?"
Zavian immediately noticed Budi's expression.
"What am I supposed to remember?"
Budi handed the photograph back.
"There are some things you might be better off finding out for yourself."
"Why does everyone keep saying that?"
"What do you mean?"
"Damar said there's something I've forgotten, too."
Budi fell silent.
A light rain began to fall outside the stall.
Zavian watched the drops of water on the road.
That strange feeling returned.
As though the rain were bringing something back.
Budi sighed.
"Zav, sometimes it's not because we don't want to remember."
"Then what?"
"Sometimes we're just not ready to accept what we remember."
Zavian was silent.
Those words kept replaying in his mind.
He went home that day with more questions than answers.
About the old photograph.
About the unfinished letter.
About someone whose face he couldn't remember.
And about the promise written on the back of the photograph.
There was one thing he knew.
Whenever it rained, a part of his life felt as though it wanted to return.
And maybe he had to find out what had really happened before it was truly too late.