Beneath The Rain

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Chapter One

The rain fell in relentless sheets, washing the city in hues of gray. From his corner table in the café, Adrian watched as water cascaded down the window, blurring the world outside into a dreamlike haze. Inside, the chatter of patrons mixed with the soft clink of cups and the hiss of the espresso machine, creating a comforting hum of background noise.

But Adrian wasn't comforted.

His notebook lay open on the table, its blank pages glaring at him like an accusation. The story he needed to tell hovered just out of reach, tangled in emotions he couldn't quite unravel. He tapped the pen against the paper, a restless rhythm that betrayed his frustration.

The bell above the café door jingled, pulling his gaze toward the entrance. Emily, the barista, wove through the tables, her tray balanced effortlessly on one hand. She caught his eye and offered a warm smile, her familiar presence momentarily grounding him.

"Still staring at that blank page?" she teased, setting a fresh cup of coffee in front of him.

Adrian sighed. "The page is stubborn."

Emily leaned against the table, her curiosity evident. "What's it this time? A crime thriller? A fantasy epic?"

He hesitated, the weight of his answer pressing down on him. "Romance," he said finally.

Her brows arched in surprise. "Romance? From you? I didn't think you believed in happy endings."

Adrian smirked faintly, though it didn't reach his eyes. "It's not that kind of story."

Emily's expression softened, her teasing replaced with genuine concern. "Sounds personal."

He nodded, his gaze drifting back to the notebook. "It is."

"Well, if anyone can turn heartbreak into art, it's you." She squeezed his shoulder lightly before heading back to the counter.

Adrian stared at the blank page, her words echoing in his mind. Heartbreak into art. Was that what he was trying to do? Or was this just another way to hold on to something he should have let go of long ago?

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By the time Adrian left the café, the rain had turned fierce. The cold droplets clung to his hair and soaked through his jacket, but he didn't mind. The storm outside mirrored the one raging within him.

Her name lingered at the edge of his thoughts, unspoken but heavy. Diana.

It had been two years, but the memory of her still clung to him like damp clothes after a storm. She had been his muse, his light, his everything. And then she was gone, leaving behind a void he hadn't figured out how to fill.

As he walked through the rain-soaked streets, fragments of their time together played like a broken film reel in his mind. The way she used to laugh, her head thrown back, carefree and radiant. The way her fingers traced invisible patterns on the table when she was deep in thought. And the way her smile didn't quite reach her eyes in those final days.

His apartment was dim and cluttered when he arrived. He flicked on a lamp, the soft glow casting long shadows over the scattered drafts and abandoned notebooks on his desk. Adrian dropped his keys onto the counter and shrugged off his damp jacket, the silence of the room wrapping around him like a second skin.

Sitting at his desk, he opened his laptop. The blank document stared back at him, as unforgiving as the notebook in the café. He couldn't write her name—not yet.

Instead, he gave her another.

"Her name was Evelyn."

The words settled on the screen, foreign yet familiar. He hesitated, then began typing again:

"She walked into my life on a rainy afternoon, the storm outside no match for the whirlwind she brought with her. To me, she was everything—a muse, a melody, a fleeting dream. Loving her was like holding fire: beautiful, consuming, and destined to burn me in the end."

As he wrote, the memories spilled out, unbidden and unstoppable. He typed about the first time he saw her, the way her presence lit up the room like sunlight breaking through a storm. He described the late-night conversations, their words weaving a world that felt untouchable.

But then came the cracks. The fleeting glances she gave to others, the nights she was unreachable, the subtle shift in her laughter that hinted at a distance he couldn't close.

A flash of memory hit him—a moment he hadn't let himself think about in years. Diana's voice, sharp and trembling, echoing in the quiet of his apartment.

"I can't do this anymore, Adrian."

He had stood there, stunned, as she gathered her things with shaking hands. He remembered the weight of her final glance, filled with something he couldn't name—regret? Guilt? Relief?

Adrian blinked, the memory dissipating as quickly as it had come. His hands hovered over the keyboard, his chest tight. The rain outside softened, its rhythm steady and soothing now.

The story wasn't finished. Neither was the pain. But for the first time in two years, he felt like he was beginning to understand it.

He leaned back, exhaustion pulling at him. The screen glowed faintly, the words on it both a beginning and a reminder. Tomorrow, he would write more. Tonight, he let the rain lull him into restless sleep, her name still an ache he couldn't shake.

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