Inside the studio of the morning show Good Morning, Fresh Breeze, young meteorologist Natsumi smiled at the camera.
“Tomorrow will be sunny across the region—a perfect day for an outing!”
Her voice was smooth, her delivery flawless. Yet, a flicker of doubt lingered in her eyes.
The data had been behaving strangely. In recent years, weather patterns had become increasingly unpredictable, slipping beyond the grasp of conventional forecasting models.
Her fears came true the very next day.
The city, promised sunshine, was instead hit by an unprecedented downpour. Streets flooded, residents panicked, and social media erupted in criticism.
“She’s a failure as a forecaster.”
“Why even trust weather reports anymore?”
Each comment struck deep.
Natsumi clenched her fists. She wasn’t just regretting the mistake—she felt helpless against the unpredictable forces of nature itself.
“Maybe I should quit.”
The thought crossed her mind more than once.
But she couldn’t forget why she had become a weather forecaster in the first place.
Her grandfather’s words echoed in her heart:
“Forecasting the weather is about delivering hope. Even in the rain, people move forward because they believe the sun will shine again.”
Seeking clarity, she returned to her hometown.
A small shrine nestled deep in the mountains, a place her grandfather had often brought her as a child.
There, she encountered an elderly priest with kind eyes.
“There’s a cloud over your heart,” he observed with a gentle smile.
Startled, Natsumi listened as he continued.
“You can’t read the weather with numbers alone. The sky has a heart. If you learn to see it, your forecasts will become clearer.”
She couldn’t help but laugh. It sounded absurd. Yet, something about his words resonated with her.
Under his guidance, she began a strange form of training.
She felt the wind, inhaled the scent of damp earth, watched the subtle movements of leaves.
“Data is important,” the priest told her. “But never forget to listen to nature itself.”
At first, she struggled.
But over time, she began to notice patterns—how certain winds foretold rain, how humidity carried a scent, how the sky whispered its intentions.
Weeks later, Natsumi returned to the studio, her confidence renewed.
“Tomorrow, the clouds may gather in the morning, but the afternoon will bring clear skies. If you’re heading out, carry a light raincoat just in case.”
Her forecasts carried a new warmth, an assurance that reassured viewers.
She no longer relied on numbers alone. She understood nature—not just scientifically, but intuitively.
Soon, her unique approach garnered attention, redefining what it meant to be a weather forecaster.
But for Natsumi, the most important thing remained the same—helping people believe in tomorrow.
As she stepped outside after the broadcast, the sky stretched wide, clear patches of blue peeking through drifting clouds.
“I hope it’s sunny tomorrow.”
With that quiet wish, she walked forward, ready for the next forecast.
