Chapter Four: Rain Delay
The storm hit on a Thursday.
Heavy drops like static against the glass, sky pressed low over the rooftops.
I still came. Of course I did.
But the bell didn’t chime.
The store was closed.
A scrap of paper was taped to the inside of the door:
“Emergency. Back soon. Maybe. —S.”
I stared at it longer than I should’ve.
Felt something shift — a hollow echo in the chest, the kind that comes when you realize how much you’d started looking forward to a thing.
I waited across the street anyway.
Under a thin awning.
Got soaked.
And when you came back, twenty-three minutes later, umbrella crooked, hair half-wet, carrying a paper bag and looking furious at the sky —
You stopped cold when you saw me.
“…You waited?”
“Window seat was taken,” I said.
You stared. Then stepped close, offering your umbrella.
But we were already drenched, so we both just stood there and laughed —
loud, helpless, soaked in a mess of cold and warmth and something else we hadn’t named yet.
That was the first time you called me by my name.
Soft. Like you weren’t sure it would stay.
Comments are closed