My Neighbor Summons Weather by Accident

The rain started the same morning she moved in.

Not the loud, dramatic kind—just a gentle drizzle, as if the sky was unsure whether it wanted to cry or simply breathe. I noticed it because I was late again, sprinting down Sakura Street with my umbrella half-broken and my toast hanging out of my mouth like a badly timed anime cliché.

That was when I crashed into her.

Literally.

My umbrella flipped inside out. The toast fell. And the girl in front of me blinked, wide-eyed, holding a small cardboard box that said FRAGILE in uneven handwriting.

“I— I’m so sorry!” I bowed too deeply, nearly losing my balance.

She laughed.

Not loudly. Just a soft, surprised sound, like wind chimes caught off guard.

“It’s okay,” she said. “I think the rain pushed you.”

The rain, as if offended, immediately stopped.

That should have been my first clue.

Her name was Hikari.

I learned it ten minutes later, when I helped her carry boxes into the old apartment above the flower shop—the one everyone said was cursed because the previous tenants always moved out after exactly one year.

“I don’t mind,” she said cheerfully when I mentioned the rumor. “I like places with stories.”

She smiled when she said it, and for some reason, the hallway lights flickered like they were shy.

Hikari had silver-gray eyes that reflected the sky, and hair that always looked slightly damp, no matter the weather. She wore oversized sweaters, even in spring, and spoke like every word deserved to be treated gently.

I lived next door.

Which meant, starting that day, my quiet, predictable anime-protagonist life was officially over.

The first strange thing happened that evening.

I was doing homework when the rain started again—only this time, it was raining inside my room.

Not dripping. Not leaking.

Just… floating.

Tiny drops hovered in the air near my window, glowing faintly like captured stars. I stared at them, frozen between panic and disbelief.

Then someone knocked.

I opened the door to find Hikari standing there, holding a teapot and looking embarrassed.

“Um,” she said softly. “Did it start raining in your room too?”

Too.

That was the second clue.

Over the next few days, I learned three things about Hikari:

She loved strawberry milk more than coffee.

She apologized to furniture when she bumped into it.

The weather obeyed her emotions.

When she laughed, the sunlight bent warmer.

When she sighed, clouds gathered like worried friends.

And when she got flustered—very flustered—snowflakes appeared, even in April.

She noticed me noticing.

“I’m not dangerous,” she said one afternoon on the shared balcony, holding her mug with both hands. “I promise.”

“I didn’t think you were,” I replied, then added quickly, “I mean— I think it’s kind of amazing.”

She looked at me then, really looked, like she was deciding whether to trust me with a secret.

“I wasn’t always like this,” Hikari said. “The rain came first. Then the rest followed.”

I didn’t ask why. Anime rules taught me that some backstories arrive when they’re ready.

Instead, I handed her my umbrella.

She blinked. “But… it’s not raining.”

“I know,” I said. “But if it does… I want you to have it.”

Her cheeks turned pink.

And somewhere above us, a single cloud drifted closer, pretending not to listen.

The fourth strange thing happened at the festival.

Fireworks lit up the sky, and the crowd buzzed with laughter and sugar and music. Hikari stood beside me in a yukata the color of dawn, fingers clutching her sleeve like she wasn’t sure the night would hold.

When the first firework exploded, she flinched.

Thunder rolled—out of nowhere.

People gasped. Someone screamed. The sky darkened far too fast.

“I’m sorry,” Hikari whispered, panic rising. “I didn’t mean to—”

I took her hand.

It was warm. Steady.

“It’s okay,” I said. “Just breathe.”

She did.

The thunder softened. The clouds thinned. The fireworks resumed, brighter than before, painting her eyes with color and light.

Hikari looked at our joined hands, then up at me.

“Why aren’t you scared?” she asked.

I smiled, a little awkwardly. “Because… I think the weather just wants you to be happy.”

For a moment, the world went very quiet.

Then, gently, like a blessing, a warm breeze passed through the festival.

That night, as I lay in bed, listening to rain tap softly against the window, I realized something important.

Hikari hadn’t moved in because of the cursed apartment.

She had moved in because she needed someone who wouldn’t run when the sky changed.

And somehow—without meaning to—

I had decided to stay.