Rain’s Whispers

The rain was steady but not overwhelming, its rhythm a soft patter against the window as Amara blinked awake. The warmth of her apartment contrasted with the rain outside, a cocoon against her restless thoughts of him. Her mind lingered on last night's poetry, the quiet way Noah had read to her, how he hadn't asked for anything in return. It felt different from everything before, and that realization both unsettled and intrigued her.

Her phone vibrated against the nightstand.

Noah: Up for a walk?

She hesitated, thumb hovering over the screen. Normally, she was the one running into him, finding him by chance in bookstores and cafés. This was different. He had reached out first.

Before she could talk herself out of it, she replied.

Amara: Where?

Noah: Anywhere you want. Just… don't bring an umbrella. Been thinking about last night—it got under my skin.

A smirk tugged at her lips. She grabbed her coat and stepped out into the city, the misty drizzle cool against her skin.

They met near the park, where the damp pavement gleamed under streetlights. The air smelled of wet earth and fading autumn, crisp but not biting. Noah was already there, hands in his pockets, his dark sweater slightly damp from the rain he hadn't bothered to shield himself from.

"I see you followed instructions," he said, eyes flicking to her umbrella-free hand.

She shrugged. "Figured I'd take a risk."

They fell into step easily, the city stretching before them in glistening reflections. The rain wasn't heavy, but it lingered, clinging to their hair and clothes, making everything feel softer, blurred at the edges.

"Any reason for this walk?" Amara asked after a moment, glancing at him.

Noah exhaled, as if considering his words. "Not really. Just felt like seeing you. Last night stuck with me."

Her stomach did something strange at that, a quiet flip she ignored. "So you just wander in the rain for fun?"

"Only with good company."

She rolled her eyes, but her lips quirked into a smile.

They walked for a while in companionable silence, their footsteps muffled by the damp pavement. The rain thickened slightly, turning into a light drizzle that beaded on their coats. When they reached a quieter stretch of the park, lined with old trees, Amara slowed, tilting her head up to the sky.

"You know," she murmured, "I used to love the rain."

Noah glanced at her, waiting.

"When I was younger, I thought it was magic. I'd run outside barefoot, spinning in the downpour, thinking if I danced long enough, I'd disappear into it." A soft breath escaped her. "And then, one day, it just… stopped feeling that way."

He was quiet for a moment. "Because of him?"

She didn't need to ask how he knew. He just did.

Amara exhaled, watching the mist curl through the trees. "Yeah. He hated the rain. Hated when I went quiet. Thought silence meant something was wrong."

She shook her head, as if trying to dislodge the weight of the past. "We had this fight once—one of those late-night, rain-drenched arguments where you don't even remember what started it. His voice cut through the rain, asking why I wouldn't talk, why I always shut down. And I couldn't answer—I just froze."

She swallowed hard. "I stopped dancing in it. Stopped standing still in it. I just let it push me forward, like I had to keep moving or else…"

Noah's voice was softer now. "Or else?"

"Or else I'd feel it too much."

The words hung between them, heavier than the rain.

Then, without hesitation, Noah stepped into the open, spreading his arms slightly as the rain gathered on his skin. "Then maybe you should try standing still."

She narrowed her eyes. "That's ridiculous."

"Is it?"

He said nothing else, just waited. And maybe it was the steadiness in his gaze, or the quiet patience in his presence, but Amara took a slow step forward, letting the rain settle into her. She closed her eyes, listening—not just to the city, or the water, but to the space between heartbeats, between breaths.

She felt Noah beside her, close but not imposing, as if letting her decide the distance.

And for the first time in years, she didn't run from the rain. She let it exist around her, within her.

When she finally opened her eyes, Noah was watching her, a small, knowing smile on his lips. "See? Not so bad."

She huffed a laugh, shaking her head. "You're insufferable."

"I've been called worse."

They started walking again, slower this time, the weight in her chest feeling… lighter. Not gone, but manageable.

At the train station entrance, they slowed. Noah tilted his head slightly. "Text me when you get home?"

She rolled her eyes but didn't argue. "Yeah."

His lips quirked. "Good."

As she descended the steps, she felt the weight of the moment settle over her, not heavy, but real.

The rain whispered against the pavement, steady and unhurried.

She let it be, let it belong, its rhythm pulsing in her veins.