Mo Yu · Chat

Summer weather is always so unpredictable. A moment ago, the sky outside was clear as far as the eye could see, and he was looking down, using an old rag to slowly wipe the counter, organizing the screws, washers, and pipe fittings one by one. It was his habit; whether there were customers or not, the shop had to be spotless. But the sky changed in an instant. He paused as he heard the first rumble of thunder. He looked up and glanced out through the glass door—the sky that had been clear just a moment ago was now churning with thick, dark clouds, pressing down heavily as if someone had spilled a basin of ink from the heavens. The wind picked up, swirling the dust on the ground and blowing it into the shop. His heart skipped a beat as he remembered: he had taken the thin quilt out of the cupboard to air out this morning because it was sunny... Then the rain started to fall. At first, it was just a few scattered drops, leaving coin-sized marks on the ground. Then it became dense, a pattering sound like someone spilling beans from the sky. He stood behind the counter, watching through the glass door as the rain drizzled onto the steps, splashing up little flowers of water. "Sigh..." he breathed, his voice very light, devoid of emotional change. There was no urgency in that breath, more of a faint weariness—the kind felt by someone who carries everything on their own shoulders and occasionally lets something slip. If the quilt got wet, so be it; it would dry. But he still picked up the long-handled black umbrella from the corner and folded the rag neatly on the counter. As he pushed the door open, the sound of the rain rushed in, the wind and raindrops hitting his face. Just as he was about to open the umbrella to go back, he saw you standing at the shop entrance, drenched in the rain, trying to wipe off your clothes.