Rain - 3

The distant clouds no longer rumbled. They just lingered in the sky as if they, too, were taking a break from the storm.

"How about a walk?" she asked suddenly, her voice breaking the silence. Her words were casual, but there was something tentative about the way she said it, like she wasn’t entirely sure I’d agree.

"A walk?" I echoed, raising an eyebrow. The rain still trickled down, soft but persistent.

She shrugged, pulling her coat tighter around her. "I don’t mind the rain. Besides, there’s a café just up the road. Thought maybe… a coffee?"

The suggestion caught me off guard. I wasn’t sure if it was the idea of a walk in the rain or the fact that she was asking me—someone who had spent the better part of the meeting trying to avoid human interaction. But there was something about the way she said it, the way her eyes flickered with a mixture of hesitation and curiosity, that made it impossible to refuse.

"Yeah," I said finally, pushing myself off the bench. "A walk sounds good."

Her lips quirked in that almost-smile again, and she stood up, adjusting her raincoat as she moved out from under the shelter. I followed her, my shoes squelching slightly in the wet grass. The air was crisp now, the rain cooling everything it touched, but it wasn’t unpleasant. If anything, it felt refreshing after the weight of the earlier downpour.

We walked in silence, her suggestion of coffee hanging in the air between us like an unspoken agreement. I wasn’t sure what to expect when she offered. I hadn’t thought we would meet again, much less that she would want to keep talking after how things had ended earlier. But here we were, heading to some small café she’d mentioned as the rain continued to fall in soft, steady drops around us.

The streets were quiet, save for the occasional car passing by, its headlights gleaming through the misty rain. I caught glimpses of warm light spilling from shop windows, the reflections on the wet pavement giving the night a surreal, dreamlike quality. There was something comforting about the rhythm of our footsteps in the rain, unhurried, as though neither of us were in a rush to reach the café. 

We finally arrived, the small coffee shop nestled between two larger buildings, its warm glow spilling out onto the rainy street. The bell above the door chimed softly as we entered, the smell of fresh coffee and baked goods enveloping us instantly. It was a quiet place, with only a few other customers scattered at tables, reading or quietly chatting. The warmth inside was a stark contrast to the chilly rain outside, and for a moment, it felt like stepping into another world.

She walked ahead of me, picking a table near the window—a small table for two, tucked away in the corner. The window was fogged up, streaked with raindrops, and outside, the street was lit only by a few dim streetlights, their light barely cutting through the misty downpour. I slid into the seat across from her, watching as she pulled her damp jacket tighter around her shoulders before glancing at me.

“It’s quiet here,” she said, almost as if to herself, her gaze drifting out the window.

“Yeah,” I replied, not sure how else to fill the space. 

A waitress came over, took our orders with a polite smile, and left us to ourselves. The silence returned, but it wasn’t as tense as it had been before. There was a strange kind of ease settling between us now, a tentative understanding that we didn’t need to fill every moment with words.

I looked around the café, taking in the wooden furniture, the soft glow of the dim lights, and the faint hum of quiet conversations from the other tables. It was cozy, almost too cozy for two people who barely knew each other, and yet… it felt right. The rain continued to patter against the window, creating a soothing backdrop to the quiet inside.

She leaned back in her seat, her eyes tracing the raindrops on the glass. “I don’t usually do this,” she said after a while, her voice quiet, thoughtful. “Sit and… talk.”

“Neither do I,” I admitted, glancing down at my hands. “I guess we’re both a little out of our element.”

A faint smile tugged at the corners of her lips, though she didn’t look at me. “Yeah. Maybe that’s a good thing.”

The waitress returned, placing two cups of steaming coffee on the table between us. The warmth from the cup was a welcome relief against the cold that had seeped into my bones. I took a sip, feeling the rich, bitter taste warm me from the inside. 

We sat like that for a while, sipping our coffee, watching the rain. The world outside the misty window felt distant, like a different reality altogether. Inside, it was just the two of us, sharing this strange, quiet moment. Neither of us said much, but for once, that was okay. There was something about sitting across from her, the weight of the earlier storm lifted just enough, that made the silence feel less suffocating.

After a few moments, she spoke again, her voice soft but clear. “Do you ever wonder why people act the way they do? Like why they always feel the need to be around others, even when they don’t really want to?”

I looked at her, surprised by the question. Her gaze remained fixed on the rain outside, her fingers absentmindedly tracing the rim of her coffee cup. “I guess… it’s just human nature,” I said slowly. “No one really likes to admit that they’re alone. Even when they want to be.”

She nodded, her expression thoughtful. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. It’s just… strange, isn’t it? How we can sit here, side by side, not saying much, and yet… it doesn’t feel wrong.”

For the first time that night, I felt a sense of connection, something more than just the awkwardness that had filled our earlier conversations. Maybe she was right. Maybe this strange, quiet companionship, this shared moment in the middle of a rainy night, was all we needed right now.

I took another sip of my coffee and leaned back in my seat, watching the rain hit the glass. Maybe we didn’t need to say anything more. Maybe this was enough.

We sat there for a while, drinking our coffee, talking about nothing in particular. The conversation flowed more easily than I’d expected, each of us giving just enough without feeling the need to fill every silence. Outside, the rain continued to fall softly, the streetlights reflecting in the growing puddles, and for the first time in a long while, I didn’t mind the quiet.

When the rain began to slow, the sky shifting from grey to an inky blue as night crept in, I glanced at her, wondering what would come next. She caught my look and gave a small nod, as if she’d been thinking the same thing.

"I should probably head back," she said, pulling her coat back on, though there was no urgency in her movements.

"Yeah," I agreed, though a part of me wasn’t ready for the night to end. "I’ll walk you."

She looked at me, surprised, but didn’t argue. As we stepped back out into the cool evening, the last remnants of the rain still clinging to the air, we walked in a companionable silence back toward the bus stop.

This time, when we reached it, there was no storm, no heavy rain to push us together. Just the quiet night, the soft drip of water from the leaves, and the occasional gust of wind.

For a moment, we stood there, the distance between us feeling like both too much and just enough. Then, with one last glance, she turned and started down the road, her figure disappearing into the misty night. I watched her go, slightly smiling, though I wasn’t entirely sure why.

The rain still fell in soft sheets, blurring the world beyond the glow of the streetlights. I didn’t move for a while, just standing in the shelter as the quiet wrapped around me again. It wasn’t the oppressive kind of silence I used to feel in moments like this—no longer the kind that made me restless. Instead, it was… still. Almost peaceful, as if the rain had somehow washed away the tension that had once clung to me like a second skin.

I glanced back toward the empty road where she had walked off into the night. The streetlights, faint through the mist, were the only markers left of her presence. I couldn’t help but wonder where she was headed, what it was that had brought her back in the first place. Something in the way she spoke, in the way she quietly returned after leaving, hinted at a story much deeper than she’d ever share in casual conversation.

The sound of footsteps splashing through shallow puddles pulled me from my thoughts. A few students, dripping wet, hurried past the bus stop without giving me a second glance, their laughter ringing out over the steady hum of rain. I stared after them, realizing how different I felt from them. They seemed so… light, carefree, like they had nothing weighing them down. But maybe that was just what I saw from the outside.

Another minute passed before I finally turned away and walked down the road, heading back toward the hostel. My shirt clung damply to my back, the cold air biting at my skin. But for the first time in what felt like forever, the cold didn’t bother me. Not as much, anyway.

The streets were nearly empty now, save for the occasional car passing by, headlights cutting through the mist. The rain had slowed to a light drizzle, and the night felt darker than it had before, but not in a way that made me uneasy. There was something about the quiet of it all, the way the rain softened everything, that made me feel like I belonged there, in that moment.

As I reached the old iron gate of the hostel, I paused for a second, glancing back toward the road. The mist had thickened, swallowing the world in a shroud of grey. She was gone, but her presence still lingered in my mind like the faint echo of a conversation unfinished. And maybe that was okay.

I stepped through the gate and into the dimly lit courtyard. The sound of the rain, now barely a whisper, followed me inside.

I opened up my can of tea and put some into my flask with boiling water. I let it brew as I watched across the street at the bus that had just arrived. Nobody got on or off, and the bus trundled away down the misty road.

For the first time in many years, I felt at peace.