The rain started as a whisper.
Nana didn't notice at first. She was too busy drowning in her own tears, curled on the wooden park bench with her knees pulled tight against her chest.
Her school uniform clung to her small frame, already damp with sweat from running—running away from the lawyers' office, running away from her father's cold signature on the divorce papers, running away from the reality that her family was being torn apart.
Eighteen years old, and her world had shattered in a single afternoon.
The whisper became a downpour. Cold drops pelted her shoulders, soaked through her backpack, turned the pages of her textbooks into soggy pulp. She didn't move. What was the point? Everything was ruined anyway.
Across the park, Li Jian folded his newspaper with a contented sigh. At seventy-three, he'd learned to appreciate simple pleasures—a cup of jasmine tea, the rustling of leaves, the quiet of an empty park on a weekday afternoon. He adjusted his reading glasses and reached for his cane, preparing to head home before the weather worsened.
That's when he saw her.
A small figure, motionless on the bench. Rain cascading over her like a waterfall, but she didn't move, didn't seek shelter. Just sat there, shoulders shaking with silent sobs.
Li Jian's chest tightened. Something about that tiny, curled form reminded him of someone—a little boy who used to cry just like that when his parents would leave for their business trips abroad. His grandson, Zayne, who would curl up in the corner of the living room, trying to be brave, trying not to let his grandfather see the tears.
"Child," Li Jian called out, his voice barely audible over the rain. He stood, gripping his cane, and opened his black umbrella. "Child, you'll catch cold."
The girl didn't respond.
Li Jian sighed and began walking toward her. His joints protested with each step—his knees weren't what they used to be—but he couldn't just leave her there. The ground had turned slick, muddy. He had to be careful.
He was three steps away when his cane slipped.
Time seemed to slow. Li Jian felt his body tilting, the wet ground rushing up to meet him. His umbrella flew from his grasp, spinning away in the wind. He braced for the impact, for the pain he knew would come—
But it didn't.
Small hands grabbed his arm. A tiny body wedged itself under his shoulder, taking his weight. The girl—this stranger child—had jolted awake and caught him, her thin arms trembling with the effort of keeping him upright.
"I've got you," she gasped, her voice hoarse from crying. "I've got you, grandfather. Please, lean on me."
Li Jian stared at her in wonder. Up close, he could see she was just a child—couldn't be more than fifteen. Her eyes were swollen and red, her lips trembling from cold or emotion or both. She was soaked to the bone, clearly suffering herself, and yet here she was, holding him steady with a strength that seemed impossible for someone so small.
"Are you hurt?" Nana asked urgently, her eyes scanning him for injuries. "Did you hit your head? Can you stand?"
"I... I'm alright, child," Li Jian managed, deeply moved. "Thank you. You can let go now—"
"No." Her grip on his arm tightened. "Not until I know you're safe. Where do you live? I'll walk you home."
"Child, you're soaking wet. You need to get home yourself—"
"Please." Her voice cracked. "Please let me help you. I... I need to help someone today. Please."
Something in her desperation made Li Jian's throat tighten. This girl, drowning in her own pain, was begging to help *him*. He saw it then—the stubborn set of her jaw, the fierce protectiveness in her young eyes. She wouldn't leave him. Not until she knew he was safe.
"Alright," he said softly. "I live just two streets away. But first, let's retrieve my umbrella so you don't get any wetter."
She darted away, grabbed the umbrella, and returned to his side, holding it carefully over both their heads. It was too small to cover them both properly, but she angled it so most of it sheltered him, leaving her own shoulder exposed to the rain.
"What's your name, child?" Li Jian asked as they walked slowly, his cane tapping against the wet pavement.
"Angelina Wang" she said quietly. "But everyone calls me Nana."
"Nana," he repeated, savoring the name. "That's a beautiful name. I'm Li Jian."
They walked in silence for a moment. Then, gently: "What made you cry so hard today, Nana?"
Her breath hitched. For a moment, he thought she wouldn't answer. Then the words spilled out—about her parents' divorce, about her father's betrayals, about having to move to the countryside with her mother and five siblings, about everything changing in one terrible day.
Li Jian listened, and his heart broke for this brave little girl.
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Three Months Later
"More rice, Nana?"
"No, Grandpa Li, I'm full." Nana smiled as she helped wash the dishes in the small kitchen of Li Jian's modest home. "You always give me too much."
"Nonsense. You're too thin." Li Jian settled into his favorite chair with a grunt. "A girl your age should eat more. You work too hard."
It had become their routine. Once a week, Li Jian would visit Nana's house with bags of groceries—vegetables, rice, sometimes meat that made her mother's eyes water with gratitude. Other times, Nana would stop by after her supermarket shift, and they'd have tea together. She'd tell him about her siblings, about school, about the exhaustion that lived in her bones. He'd tell her stories about his youth, about his late wife, about life's small beauties.
And always, he talked about his grandson.
"Zayne called today," Li Jian said, sipping his tea. "Still working those ridiculous hours. Twenty-seven years old and acts like he's sixty."
Nana dried the last plate, smiling. She'd heard so much about Zayne—the stoic young surgeon who talked like a medical textbook and apparently had never smiled in his entire life. "Did you tell him to rest?"
"I told him he should find a nice girl. You know what he said? 'Grandfather, romantic relationships require time allocation I cannot currently spare.'" Li Jian shook his head in exasperation. "Who talks like that? A robot, that's who."
Nana laughed, the sound light and genuine. These moments with Grandpa Li were the only times she felt like a normal teenager instead of a second mother, a cashier, a survivor.
"You know," Li Jian said casually, "you two would get along well. You could teach him how to be human again."
"Grandpa!" Nana's cheeks flushed. "Don't be silly. Someone like that... a chief surgeon in Linkon City... I don't belong in that world."
"Mm." Li Jian studied her over his teacup. "You underestimate yourself, child. You have something rare—a good heart. That's worth more than all the medical degrees in China."
Nana looked away, uncomfortable. She gathered her bag, preparing to leave for her night shift. "I should go. Thank you for dinner, Grandpa."
"Wait." Li Jian stood and pressed a small envelope into her hand. "For your school fees. And don't argue—I already know you'll try to refuse."
Tears pricked Nana's eyes. "I can't—"
"You can. You will." His voice was firm but gentle. "Let an old man help. It makes me happy."
She hugged him then, fierce and quick, before hurrying out into the night.
Li Jian watched her go, his heart full of affection and worry. Such a good girl. Such a hard life.
---
That Evening - Linkon City
Zayne's phone buzzed as he reviewed a patient's chart in his office. 11:47 PM. Most people would be asleep. But his grandfather kept odd hours.
"Grandfather," he answered, not looking up from his work.
"Zayne. Still at the hospital?"
"A valve replacement requires thorough post-operative monitoring. I'll leave once the patient stabilizes."
"Mm. You sound tired."
"Fatigue is manageable."
There was a pause. Then: "I saw Nana today. She's working herself to exhaustion again. Supermarket shift until midnight, then walking home alone through those dark streets."
Zayne's pen stilled. For three months now, his grandfather had talked about this girl—this Nana. At first, Zayne had dismissed it as an old man's boredom, latching onto a friendly neighbor. But the stories continued. How she helped her mother raise five siblings. How she saved every yuan for school. How she smiled despite everything.
"That's inadvisable," Zayne said. "A young woman alone at night faces increased risk of—"
"I know, I know." Li Jian sighed. "I worry about her. She reminds me of you, you know."
Zayne frowned. "I fail to see the similarity. I'm a cardiac surgeon. She's a student working retail."
"You both carry too much weight alone. You both forget to live while you're busy surviving." His grandfather's voice softened. "When you were small, after your parents left, you used to curl up and cry. You thought I didn't see, but I did. She was the same way when I found her—all that pain, trying to hold it inside."
Something uncomfortable stirred in Zayne's chest. He pushed it away.
"She sounds... resilient," he offered.
"She's wonderful," Li Jian said firmly. "Kind, hardworking, selfless. The type of girl who—" He stopped himself. "Ah, never mind. I'm just a rambling old man. Get some rest, Zayne. Don't work all night."
"I'll rest when appropriate. Good night, Grandfather."
After hanging up, Zayne sat in silence for a long moment, staring at the phone.
He didn't know why his grandfather was so fixated on this girl.
He didn't know why he kept listening to the stories.
And he certainly didn't know why, just for a moment, he wondered what it would be like to meet someone who could make a stoic old man's voice fill with such warmth.
Then his pager beeped—patient vitals dropping—and Dr. Zayne Li pushed all thoughts aside and did what he did best.
He saved lives, one heart at a time, while his own remained carefully locked away.
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To be continued.