The girl waited until lunch before she returned to the second-floor hallway.
By then, most students had already gone downstairs.
The display was quieter without everyone gathered around it. Sunlight came through the tall windows, falling across the photographs in long pale rectangles. Dust moved slowly through the light.
She stood in front of the photograph again.
Two children.
One umbrella.
Rain.
The photograph had been printed years ago.
She knew because she had seen it before.
Not recently.
Not in a school hallway.
In a small box at home.
She had almost forgotten about it.
Her name was Han Yerin.
She was in the second year of middle school, though she rarely spoke to anyone outside her small group of friends. She wasn't part of the photography club. She wasn't an artist. She hadn't submitted anything to the winter project.
She had simply walked past the display several days ago and stopped.
Because of the umbrella.
Yerin looked at the photograph again.
The boy stood slightly behind the girl.
His face was mostly hidden by the angle.
The girl was holding the umbrella.
There was something about the way they stood that made Yerin's chest feel strange.
She reached into her pocket.
The blue ribbon was still there.
She had carried it for years.
It wasn't valuable.
The fabric was slightly faded, and one end had started to fray.
Her mother had once told her that she used to wear it when she was little.
Yerin remembered almost nothing from that time.
She remembered rain.
She remembered being cold.
She remembered someone holding an umbrella.
And she remembered a boy saying something.
The words were gone.
The feeling remained.
"You're looking at that again."
Yerin turned.
Aera stood several steps away.
She was holding two cartons of milk and a small bread bag.
Yerin immediately looked away from the photograph.
"I was just looking."
Aera smiled.
"That's allowed."
Yerin glanced back.
"You took it?"
Aera shook her head.
"No."
"Do you know who did?"
"No."
Yerin hesitated.
"Do you know who the children are?"
Aera looked at the photograph.
"No."
There was something reassuring about the answer.
Yerin had expected Aera to know.
She had seen her standing beside the display so often that she had assumed she must be involved with everything.
Instead, Aera simply looked curious.
"Why?" she asked.
Yerin looked down at the ribbon in her hand.
"I think I know the girl."
Aera didn't react dramatically.
She simply waited.
Yerin appreciated that.
"The photograph looks like me."
Aera studied the picture again.
Then she looked at Yerin.
There was a slight resemblance.
Not enough to be certain.
The girl in the photograph was younger, with short hair and a rounder face. Yerin's features had changed with age.
"Do you have a copy?"
Yerin nodded.
"At home."
"Then maybe you can compare them."
Yerin smiled faintly.
"Maybe."
Aera held out one of the milk cartons.
"You want this?"
Yerin blinked.
"What?"
"I bought two."
"Oh."
She accepted it.
"Thank you."
Aera nodded toward the photograph.
"You don't have to tell me anything if you don't want to."
Yerin looked at her.
"Why are you saying that?"
"Because sometimes memories feel different when other people start asking questions."
Yerin became quiet.
That sentence stayed with her.
Aera picked up the bread bag.
"I should go."
"Wait."
Aera stopped.
Yerin hesitated.
"Do you think memories can be wrong?"
Aera thought about it.
"Probably."
"Then how do you know which part is true?"
"I don't."
The answer came easily.
Yerin looked surprised.
Aera smiled.
"That's why I take photographs."
She glanced at the wall.
"But photographs can be wrong too."
"How?"
"They only show one moment."
Yerin looked at the photograph again.
One moment.
That was all it was.
Yet it had survived long enough to find her.
Aera left.
Yerin remained there.
She didn't look at the other photographs.
Only that one.
Then she carefully put the ribbon back into her pocket.
That afternoon, the rain returned.
It started during the last class.
At first, it was barely noticeable.
Tiny drops against the windows.
Then the rain became heavier.
By the time the final bell rang, the courtyard was covered in a thin silver sheet.
Students gathered near the entrance.
Some opened umbrellas immediately.
Others stood beneath the roof and complained.
Seojun looked outside.
"I forgot mine."
Daewon put his books into his bag.
"You forgot it yesterday too."
"Yesterday wasn't raining."
"It was."
"Not when I left home."
"That's still forgetting."
Seojun looked offended.
"You've become very judgmental."
"I've always been like this."
"That's true."
Aera arrived a few minutes later.
She was holding her blue umbrella.
Daewon smiled when he saw it.
"You brought it."
She looked at him.
"Obviously."
"I wasn't sure."
"Why?"
"Because you've been forgetting things lately."
"I forgot one notebook."
"Two."
"One and a half."
"How do you forget half a notebook?"
Aera smiled.
"I don't know."
They walked outside together.
The rain covered the streets of Haneul-dong in a soft gray haze.
Cars moved slowly.
People hurried along the sidewalks.
The bakery windows were fogged from inside.
For a while, Daewon and Aera didn't speak.
They simply walked.
Then Aera said, "I talked to someone today."
"Who?"
"The girl who was looking at the umbrella photograph."
Daewon looked at her.
"The one from another class?"
"Yes."
"What did she say?"
"She thinks she might be the girl in the photograph."
Daewon slowed slightly.
"Really?"
Aera nodded.
"She said she has a blue ribbon from when she was little."
Daewon looked toward the rain.
"That's strange."
"It is."
"Do you think she's right?"
"I don't know."
They continued walking.
Daewon thought about the photograph.
Two children.
One umbrella.
A moment that had somehow survived.
"Do you think we should tell Mr. Kim?"
"About what?"
"That someone might recognize it."
Aera considered that.
"Maybe."
"Wouldn't he want to know?"
"Probably."
They stopped at the corner where they usually separated.
Rain tapped against the umbrella.
Aera looked at him.
"Maybe she doesn't need the school to know."
Daewon understood.
"You mean it's her memory."
"Yeah."
He nodded.
"Then she should decide."
Aera smiled.
"You've gotten better at that."
"At what?"
"Knowing when something isn't yours."
Daewon laughed.
"I've been learning."
The rain became heavier.
Aera shifted the umbrella slightly so more of it covered him.
"You'll get wet."
"So will you."
"I'm fine."
"You're always saying that."
"And you're always worrying."
"Someone has to."
She smiled.
"See you tomorrow."
"See you."
Aera walked away.
Daewon watched until she reached the next corner.
Then he turned toward home.
That evening, Yerin opened the old box.
It had been sitting at the back of her closet for years.
Her mother had told her not to throw it away.
Inside were things that no longer belonged to the present.
A small yellow hair clip.
A faded birthday card.
A pair of children's gloves.
Three photographs.
And a blue ribbon.
Yerin picked up the first photograph.
Her hands became still.
It was the same photograph.
The exact same one.
The image on the school wall was slightly larger, but the composition was identical.
Two children standing beneath an umbrella.
Rain falling around them.
Yerin stared at the girl.
She was certain now.
It was her.
She turned the photograph over.
There was handwriting on the back.
She had never noticed it before.
Four words.
For Yerin, from Dae.
She read it again.
For Yerin.
From Dae.
Her heart began beating faster.
Dae.
She knew someone named Dae.
But that wasn't possible.
Was it?
She picked up the second photograph.
It showed the same street from farther away.
The two children were walking.
The boy was carrying a schoolbag.
The girl was holding the blue umbrella.
On the back was another sentence.
Don't lose this next time.
Yerin frowned.
"What does that mean?"
She searched through the box.
Underneath the photographs was a folded piece of paper.
She opened it.
The handwriting was childish.
Uneven.
The ink had faded.
There was only one sentence.
I'll find you again if it rains.
Yerin sat on the floor for a long time.
Outside her window, rain tapped softly against the glass.
She looked at the blue ribbon in her hand.
Then at the photographs.
Then at the handwriting.
She remembered the rain.
She remembered the umbrella.
She remembered a boy.
But she still couldn't remember his face.
Only his voice.
A small voice from years ago.
Don't cry.
Yerin closed her eyes.
The memory came back in pieces.
A wet sidewalk.
Cold fingers.
A blue umbrella.
A boy standing beside her.
And then_
A name.
She opened her eyes.
"Dae..."
The word sounded unfamiliar.
Yet somehow, it didn't feel new.
The next morning, Daewon arrived at school earlier than usual.
He was halfway up the stairs when someone called his name.
"Excuse me."
He turned.
Yerin stood several steps below him.
She looked nervous.
Daewon recognized her immediately.
The girl from the hallway.
"Yes?"
She held something in her hand.
A photograph.
"I think..."
She stopped.
Daewon waited.
"I think I know who the boy is."
Daewon looked at the photograph.
Then at her.
"Who?"
Yerin swallowed.
"I don't know his full name."
She lifted the photograph slightly.
"But when I was little, there was a boy named Dae."
Daewon froze.
Yerin looked at him carefully.
"And I think he went to this school."
For several seconds, neither of them spoke.
Then Daewon noticed the handwriting on the back of the photograph.
He didn't recognize it.
But one thing about it caught his attention.
The letter D.
It looked strangely familiar.
Yerin looked past him.
Toward the second-floor hallway.
Toward the photograph.
Then she whispered,
"I think I finally found the person I forgot."
Daewon didn't know what to say.
Behind him, footsteps approached.
Aera's voice came from the stairs.
"Daewon?"
He turned.
Aera stopped when she saw Yerin.
For a moment, the three of them simply stood there.
Outside the windows, the morning sky was gray.
And somewhere beyond the school walls, rain began falling again.