The rain had stopped sometime before dawn,  

leaving the world rinsed clean and quiet.  

Bailey Dofen woke to the smell of coffee and the faint hum of the city outside.  

Her body ached in every muscle—  

not the painful kind, but the kind that reminded her she had done something that mattered.  

The clock read 6:42 a.m.  

Her medal still lay on the nightstand, half-buried under a towel and a single earring.  

In the kitchen, Man Olid was making breakfast with the confidence of someone who had clearly not learned from history.  

A thin trail of smoke curled toward the ceiling.  

“Do I smell toast or tragedy?” she said from the doorway.  

He turned, grinning. “Both. It’s a combo deal.”  

She rubbed her eyes, smiling. “You’re lucky I’m too tired to care.”  

He held up a frying pan like a peace offering. “I’m evolving.”  

“You’re smoking.”  

“Progress takes time.”  

She poured herself coffee, taking in the sight of him—barefoot, sleeves rolled up,  

his hair still a little damp from the rain.  

He caught her looking. “What?”  

“Nothing.”  

“Liar.”  

“Fine. You look… normal.”  

“Don’t say that like it’s an insult.”  

“It is when you try to cook.”  

He laughed. “You know, some people say I’m charming.”  

“They must not have kitchens.”  

They ate at the counter, quietly.  

Outside, sunlight leaked through the clouds,  

the world still dripping, shining, slow.  

For a long time, neither spoke.  

Then Bailey said softly, “Yesterday feels like a dream.”  

“It was loud for a dream.”  

“I didn’t hear it.”  

“I did,” he said. “Every heartbeat.”  

She smiled into her cup. “Poetic.”  

“I’m trying to match your energy.”  

“Impossible.”  

“Challenge accepted.”  

When she finally stood to wash her cup, he stopped her.  

“Leave it. I’ve got it.”  

“You’ll just break something.”  

“Then I’ll buy more.”  

“That’s not the point.”  

“It is when I’m rich.”  

She gave him a look. “Unbelievable.”  

“Completely.”  

Later that morning, she found herself sitting by the window,  

watching water droplets slide down the glass.  

The court still played in her mind—not the score,  

just the rhythm, the feeling of her feet finding ground.  

Man joined her, holding two slices of what might have been toast.  

He offered her one.  

She took it without looking up.  

“Remember when you said love means standing where someone chooses to land?”  

He nodded.  

“I think I finally understand that.”  

“Yeah?”  

“It’s not about you catching me.” She glanced at him. “It’s about you not moving.”  

He smiled, soft and certain. “Good thing I’m stubborn.”  

“Good thing,” she said.  

They sat there for a while, watching the city wake.  

Cars began to move, people hurried by,  

and the world, as it always did, went on.  

Bailey leaned her head against his shoulder.  

“I don’t know what happens next,” she murmured.  

“Then we’ll find out,” he said. “One day at a time.”  

She closed her eyes, the warmth of his arm grounding her.  

Outside, a bus rolled past, splashing through a puddle—  

the last echo of last night’s storm.  

And somewhere between the fading rain and the rising light,  

Bailey realized something she hadn’t dared to before:  

she wasn’t afraid of the silence anymore.  

Because when the world went quiet,  

he was still there.  

And somehow,  

that was enough.