I See You'

The rain came quickly.

What had started as a perfect afternoon on the hill stretched lazily into evening, and then into something much darker than Ethan had anticipated. The sky, once gentle and gold, had deepened into a thick, heavy quiet — the kind of silence that warns you just before a storm cracks the world open.

Hana stood by the edge of the hill, her cane resting beside her, her face tilted up as a drop landed on her cheek.

"That's rain," she said, her voice low.

Ethan shifted beside her. "Yeah. That… was not supposed to happen yet."

"Do you have a lantern?"

There was a long pause.

"I do not," he said.

She sighed.

"I know," he added quickly, "very irresponsible of me. I underestimated how late it was. And how fast it gets dark up here. And how, apparently, the sky has opinions."

Thunder groaned in the distance.

"I suppose there's no use waiting it out," she murmured. "It's coming."

He picked up the blanket and the basket, already wet. "We'll take it slow. I'll talk you through every step."

They began the descent, the ground now slick and uncertain. Hana's feet moved carefully, her cane finding each shift in the earth — until it didn't. Her foot slid sideways on a muddy slope, and she caught herself on Ethan's arm.

"You okay?" he asked quickly.

"I'm alright," she replied. "But this is going to be difficult."

Another gust of wind blew against them, and the rain thickened. The path was no longer familiar under her feet — the textures she relied on had changed, muddied and softened by the storm.

She stopped walking.

"Ethan… I don't think I can do this with just my cane."

He hesitated, then set the basket down and moved beside her again. "Okay. Let me help."

Without warning, he bent slightly and lifted her into his arms.

Hana gasped. "What are you doing?"

"Taking care of you," he grunted. "Don't panic — I've carried sacks heavier than this."

She braced against his chest, her hands unsure of where to rest. She hadn't been carried since she was a child. And certainly not like this.

"This is ridiculous," she muttered, heart racing slightly.

"And yet, here we are," he said. "Do me a favor and don't wiggle too much. I'm relying entirely on my overconfidence and poor night vision."

She didn't laugh. Not immediately.

Because the truth was, she was scared. Not because of him — but because of everything she couldn't track anymore. The shifting mud. The distant thunder. The way she had no sense of direction out here. Not like this.

And yet… her fingers slowly unclenched from his jacket.

"You think you can find your way back?"

"I think," Ethan said, steadying himself as they passed a root, "that you trust me."

She didn't respond for a moment. Then softly: "I do."

The rain poured harder. The wind pressed at them from the sides. And still, Ethan kept going, step after slow, uncertain step.

By the time they reached Hana's shop, they were soaked through.

Ethan set her gently down on the covered porch, her boots squelching as they hit the wooden floor. She ran her hand along the railing, grounding herself again.

He leaned against the wall, catching his breath.

Hana felt for the door with one hand, locating the latch by instinct and habit. She pushed it open, the warmth of the shop greeting them like an old friend.

She stepped inside first, cane tapping softly across the familiar floorboards. Ethan followed slowly, setting the soggy basket near the entry.

Hana turned toward him, her head tilted slightly. "By the sounds of it you're dripping everywhere."

"You and I both," he said, while water pooled beneath his shoes.

"Hana," he said softly, "I just… I'm sorry. About the way tonight ended. I didn't expect the storm, and I wasn't prepared. We got soaked, covered in mud — it wasn't what I meant for today to be."

Hana smoothed her wet skirt with trembling fingers. "I thought you handled it well."

"You were nearly stranded on a hilltop" he added. I almost lost my balance twice and I forgot a latern. Also not to mention your hair, is full of leaves."

She reached up instinctively. "Oh."

"Don't worry," he added. "You still look… like someone I'd get lost in the rain for."

She turned toward his voice, head slightly tilted again. Her smile was small, but genuine.

"You gave me something I've never had before," she said. "An afternoon outside the village… laughter, space, a different kind of silence. I didn't care about the rain."

"I just didn't want to ruin it," he added.

She said, "We got caught in a storm. It happens."

"I should've planned better. I should've thought about—"

She stepped closer, finding his arm first, then his collar, then his face with quiet confidence. Her hand moved slowly along his cheek, feeling the stubble, the water dripping from his hairline.

"You got me home," she said. "That's all I care about."

And then, gently — like she'd done it before a thousand times — she leaned in and kissed him.

It wasn't rushed.

It wasn't careful either.

It was sure.

Ethan stilled, his hands hovering at her sides, unsure of what he was allowed to do — until she leaned closer still, and he understood he was allowed to kiss her back.

After that mild, gentle kiss, their lips parted and their eyes slowly opened. Though Hana could not see his expression, she could feel the way his breath held — just a little — and how the silence between them shifted, heavier with something new.

They stood close. Not out of accident, but out of some quiet agreement neither had voiced yet.

Hana's fingers brushed a curl behind his ear, her touch soft and lingering. Then she smiled faintly and tilted her head.

"Sit," she said, voice warm and a little hushed. "You'll get sick walking around with a wet head. And I'm not letting the man who just kissed me look like a drowned puppy."

Ethan's lips curled in a surprised grin, but he said nothing — only obeyed, lowering himself onto the wooden stool near the counter.

Hana stepped closer, then reached out, her fingers grazing the top of his head. She found the edges of his hair, already curling and damp.

"Lower your head a bit."

He did, and she began drying his hair — gently at first, then more confidently. The towel moved in soft circles as her hands worked their way through his curls.

"You didn't have to do this," he murmured.

"You didn't have to carry me through a storm," she replied.

He smiled, though she couldn't see it.

Once finished, she handed him the towel and walked toward the small chest tucked beneath the staircase. Her hand glided across the lid until she found the latch and opened it.

"I have clothes that might fit you," she said. "They were my father's. He wasn't a large man, but you're not far off in build."

Ethan stood slowly, watching her with a quiet expression.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," she said. "They're clean. And I doubt he'd mind."

He accepted the folded shirt and slacks she pulled from the chest, then paused.

"I'll show you to the spare room. It's small, but you'll be comfortable."

He followed quietly.

She guided him to a narrow doorway, pulling aside a thick curtain. The room inside smelled faintly of lavender and cedarwood — simple, clean, and dry.

"There's a folded blanket on the shelf to your right," she said. "And the floor creaks once in the back corner. Just so you know."

Ethan smiled. "Thanks for the warning."

She turned, standing just outside the curtain. "Goodnight, Ethan."

He paused. "Goodnight, Hana."

She didn't leave right away. Instead, her fingers lingered on the edge of the curtain.

"…Thank you," he said again.

"You're welcome," she whispered, and then stepped away, her soft footsteps fading into the gentle creaks of the old wooden floor.

Later, they each took warm showers separately, letting the last of the cold rinse away with the dirt and stormwater. When Hana returned to her room, her damp hair braided back and her robe tied loosely at the waist, she stood for a while in the dark — just listening to the house settle around her.

As Ethan changed into the borrowed clothes and toweled off the last of the rain, a quiet peace settled over the little shop.

Outside, the storm still murmured.

But inside, for the first time since he'd arrived in Elmsworth, Ethan felt something new:

A sense of belonging.

And the start of something worth staying for.