The sound of rain followed us home.

As we stepped inside, I could still hear it pouring outside — soft but endless.

The house was quiet, as always. Dim lights, closed curtains, and walls that seemed to hold their breath. A few of my father’s old notes still clung to the wall, yellowed with time.

She stood near the doorway for a second, her shoes dripping on the floor. Her eyes wandered through the silent rooms — this lonely house that had forgotten what laughter sounded like. Maybe it was just a reflection of me.

But instead of noticing its darkness, she walked across the living room and pulled the curtains open, letting in the faint grey light of the rain. She stood there by the window — soft light on her face, storm behind her — like a painting that didn’t belong in this place.

For a moment, I couldn’t move. I just stood there, watching her bring light into this house like an angel who had wandered into a forgotten world.

“Isn’t it better this way?” she said softly, with a small smile.

I wanted to agree, but all I managed was,

“Well, I don’t mind it either way.”

That was a lie. I just didn’t want her to see what I really felt.

It hit me then — this was the first time in years someone had been here.

And somehow, her presence made the place feel… warm.

“You can use my towel to dry off,” I said.

“Wow, that’s one way to get a girl into your room when no one’s home.”

“Well, it’s your fault I’m wet,” She said, pretending to act like she is mad.

And just like that, she disappeared into my room.

My fault, huh.

I went to boil some water for coffee. The silence mixed with the sound of rain outside.

After a while, I walked to my room to check on her.

She was standing there, towel over her head, holding an old photo frame.

It was a picture of me and my family — the glass cracked, the smile faded.

But she held it gently, like she could feel the weight of it. She brushed the dust off my smiling face with her thumb, not realizing I was watching her. She looked at my smiling face with a soft smile.

“Hey… you done?” I asked quietly.

She turned and smiled. “Yeah.”

She placed the frame back on the table — exactly where it had been.

“I’m making coffee,” I said.

“No, I’ll make it.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to live after drinking it.”

I sighed. “No one ever said my coffee was bad.”

“Do you even have anyone who could tell you if it was?”

“…No.”

“Exactly.”

She smirked and walked toward the kitchen. That’s when I noticed she was wearing my shirt.

“I took your shirt,” she said before I could ask. “Mine was wet.”

Does she think everything I have belongs to her? She walks in my house like it's her own wearing my shirt?

Then again… maybe I didn’t mind at all. 

A few minutes later, she returned with two steaming cups.

The smell of coffee filled the room.

She handed me one and stood beside me by the window as the rain continued to fall. The rain drops striking the window softly creating a sweet melody.

I took a sip. It was warm — and sweet.

We both stood there in silence, the light dim, the air soft with the sound of rain. It was just us— with two cups of coffee, standing near the window looking outside at the rain 

“Didn’t it feel nice?” she said quietly. “Dancing in the rain?”

Her voice had that same warmth — gentle, sincere.

“If you love something,” she continued, “it makes your world beautiful. It makes everything — even something as simple as the rain— precious.”

I looked down at my cup.

“Love is just a beautiful illusion,” I said.

“When someone you love leaves or betrays you, it breaks you in ways you can’t describe.

It’s not the betrayal that hurts most — it’s the love itself. The deeper it runs, the more it burns when it’s gone. The more you love someone, the more pain you will feel when they leave.

Love gives the pain its weight.”

The words came from somewhere dark inside me. The same darkness that once swallowed everything I cared about. The night— my mother left us, came back to me like a ghost. I could feel the world around me getting darker and darker....

Then I felt something — her hands.

Warm. Soft. Gently holding my face. Lifting my face up.

Her palms were still warm from the cup, but it felt like something deeper — like she was pulling me back from that darkness.

She looked into my eyes — her cheeks flushed, her breath trembling slightly. Her face looked so beautiful and was too close to mine.

Outside, the rain tapped softly on the window, but it all faded into silence.

She leaned closer, her hands still on my face, her voice barely a whisper.

“Then don’t wake up from the dream,” she said. “Stay asleep… forever.”

For a moment, the world stopped.

The rain, the silence, the ache in my chest — all of it faded.

She was too close. Too real. I wanted to hold her back but I couldn't move. I could only feel her at that moment. Her hands, her face, and her breath near my ear.

And I didn’t want her to move away.

 ________

When the rain finally stopped, she left — still wearing that soft smile, cheeks red.

“Thanks for the warmth,” she said before stepping out. She took my shirt with her like a memory of me.

I stood there for a long while, staring at the empty cup she had held.

And for the first time in years…

the silence in my house didn’t feel empty.