But Sean spoke first, "Your sister isn't the petty type. She understands that it's dangerous to get soaked in such heavy rain. You could get sick."
I glanced down at myself, my clothes nearly half-drenched. Then I looked at Mischa.
Despite the downpour, Sean had angled most of the umbrella toward her, so her clothes were mostly dry, with just a few stray raindrops blown by the wind.
But according to Sean, somehow, she was 'half-soaked.' Sean himself, on the other hand, was almost entirely wet.
Not caring about his own condition, he gently wiped her hair, neck and chest, as though handling something delicate and valuable.
"Sean, I'm soaked too. Why do you only see Mischa? Am I really that unimportant to you?" I asked.
"And earlier, downstairs, in the heavy rain, you only sheltered her with the umbrella. What about me? Did you even think of me at all?" I wanted to question him like that and I actually did say it aloud.