UMBRELLA

PART 1 – THE WEIGHT OF LOSS

Mr. Smith had always been the kind of person who carried other people's burdens without hesitation. In his twenty-six years of life, helping others had become second nature. No matter how difficult his own day was, he always found a reason to smile.

But even the kindest people cannot escape tragedy.

One ordinary afternoon, while he was working with his usual cheerful expression, his phone rang. The smile vanished from his face the moment he answered.

His father had passed away.

Mr. Smith had lost his mother when he was only two years old. His father had raised him alone and never remarried, wanting only to stay by his son's side for as long as he could.

Now, the only family Mr. Smith had was gone.

Days passed, but the empty house remained unchanged. The laughter he once carried home disappeared, replaced by silence. He gradually withdrew from the people around him, speaking only when necessary. The only habit he never abandoned was carrying a few chocolates in his pocket—his favorite comfort on lonely days.

One rainy night, while walking home from work, lost in his thoughts, he decided to take a different route. It was nearly eleven o'clock. Most of the shops had already closed, and the streets were almost deserted.

As he passed a small convenience store, he heard the metallic clang of a shutter being pulled down.

PART 2 – BENEATH THE UMBRELLA

The shopkeeper locked the shutter and started walking away. As he passed the store's entrance, Mr. Smith noticed a young boy sitting alone on the steps.

The shopkeeper glanced at the child only once before continuing on his way.

"Excuse me, sir," Mr. Smith called, stopping him. "Do you know that boy?"

The shopkeeper looked back. "No. Why?"

"It's raining, and he's just sitting there alone. Doesn't that seem a little concerning?"

"I tried talking to him, but he didn't respond," the shopkeeper replied with a shrug. "Besides, today's my daughter's birthday. I don't want to be late."

"But he's just a child."

The shopkeeper sighed.

"Listen, there are countless children living on the streets. We can't help all of them. My daughter's waiting for me, and I'm already late."

He turned to leave, then added,

"You should head home too. It's getting late."

Mr. Smith nodded and continued walking. He told himself there was probably nothing he could do for the boy anyway.

But after only a few steps, his conscience made him stop.

He looked back.

The child was still sitting there alone in the pouring rain.

With a quiet sigh, Mr. Smith turned around and walked back. He opened his umbrella and held it over the boy's head.

The child looked about eight or nine years old.

Mr. Smith studied his face carefully.

It was the face of an innocent child—someone who should have been laughing, playing, and enjoying life without a care in the world.

Instead, there was only a distant stare, as though he were carrying thoughts far heavier than someone his age ever should.

The rain no longer fell on the boy, and Mr. Smith was standing directly in front of him. Yet the child didn't react.

"Hey, kid," Mr. Smith said gently. "What are you doing here?"

No answer.

"Where are your parents?"

Silence.

"Hey..."

Still nothing.

Finally, Mr. Smith raised his voice.

"Hey, kid!"

The moment the words left his mouth, he regretted them. There had been no reason to shout.

Slowly, the boy lifted his head. Even then, he looked lost in thought.

"What's your name?" Mr. Smith asked.

"Hm... I'm... William."

As he spoke, William never looked at Mr. Smith's face. His eyes remained fixed on Mr. Smith's belt.

"What are you doing here?"

"My dad... said he'd come back. I'm waiting for him."

Seeing the worry on the boy's face, Mr. Smith asked softly,

"Did your father scold you?"

William didn't answer.

"Where did he go?"

"He went to work. He said he'd be late."

Even while answering, William kept staring at the belt.

"Oh... I see." Mr. Smith smiled. "Do you like my belt?"

William gave no reaction.

Mr. Smith quietly sat down beside him, resting the umbrella over both of them. “You know… my father passed away not long ago.” For the first time, William looked at him. “He loved me very much,” Mr. Smith continued. “I know he did. But… I don’t remember him ever saying, 'I love you'." “He never shaid it?” William asked. “I don’t think so.” Mr. Smith smiled faintly. “But he never made a promise he couldn’t keep. Even when he should’ve spent money on seeing a doctor, he bought me a bicycle instead. Once he even risked getting into trouble at work just to carve me a wooden Pokémon figure.” William’s eyes lit up. “Wow… a Pokémon?” “Yeah.” Mr. Smith chuckled. “It was Pikachu.” He looked up at the rain. “My father gave me everything I ever asked for. That’s what parents do. They love their children more than anything, but sometimes they’re so busy carrying their responsibilities that they forget to say those words aloud.” “Sho… that’s how it is?” William asked quietly. Mr. Smith nodded. “Tell me something. Does your father love you?” “Yesh.” William nodded. “He even tells me that he lovesh me.” Mr. Smith smiled warmly. “Then you’re a lucky boy."