The rain stopped two days later but the ground never really dried the air still smelled like thunder and something that lingered between sweet and sad I hadn’t seen Ethan since that night under the convenience store awning I told myself it didn’t matter that maybe the rain was just his kind of timing but the truth followed me like the damp in my shoes

I went back to the library after class the same seat by the window The book he’d given me was still in my bag a little warped from humidity I opened it again even though I’d memorized every line The doodle of the umbrella on the last page looked different now softer like it was smiling at me The words see you next rain felt heavier than before like maybe they meant goodbye

The door opened behind me and I looked up without thinking He was there hair still messy but his uniform dry for once He walked over with that same uneven confidence and dropped a small paper bag on the table He said I brought you something I said what’s this He said just open it

Inside was a new umbrella plain black but sturdy the kind that doesn’t bend in the wind I looked at it then at him He said I figured the yellow one’s had enough rain for a lifetime I said maybe but I kind of liked that it was broken He smiled said you would

He sat down across from me and for a while neither of us spoke The rain had left the world quieter somehow only the sound of pages turning and someone’s footsteps far away He said we finished filming for media class today I said how did it go He said fine I guess but I kept thinking about that first storm you know the one with the umbrella I said yeah I remember He said I think that was the first time I actually liked the rain

He leaned back looking out the window where clouds were breaking apart into small pieces of light The sun slipped through hitting his face and for a second I saw how tired and peaceful he looked I wanted to reach across the table but I didn’t Instead I said you should get going practice right He said yeah soon but not yet

He took the umbrella from the bag opened it halfway then closed it again said I hope you use it even if it doesn’t rain I said that’s not how umbrellas work He said maybe it is maybe they’re just reminders of the days you didn’t expect someone to stay beside you

When the final bell rang the library started to empty He stood up slinging his bag over his shoulder I thought he would say something more but he just smiled that small familiar smile and said see you around I said see you next rain but my voice came out softer than I meant

After he left I sat there watching the sun hit the wet pavement outside it glittered like a memory trying to dry itself I held the new umbrella on my lap the weight of it strange and comforting The yellow one still hung by my door at home I knew I wouldn’t throw it away not now maybe not ever

On the walk home the air was warm the streets steaming faintly from leftover rain A breeze moved through the trees the smell of wet leaves and sunlight mixing into something I couldn’t name I thought about how every story seems to end when the rain stops but maybe ours didn’t maybe it just changed shapes waiting quietly somewhere in the weather

That night I opened my window listened to the last drops sliding from the roof and whispered goodnight to no one particular maybe to him maybe to the sky maybe just to the sound of everything that once felt like falling and somehow became something worth remembering