The sound of rain had always comforted her  -  rhythmic, steady, constant.

It was the kind of sound that made the world slow down, as if everything heavy inside her could momentarily rest.

The door of Café Lumière opened with a faint chime, letting in the damp, earthy scent of the street. She and her friend stepped inside, closing their umbrellas and laughing as droplets clung to their sleeves. The café was warm  -  golden lights spilling softly over wooden tables, the murmur of quiet conversations blending with the rain tapping the tall glass walls.

They found a table upstairs, by the railing that overlooked the floor below. The glass stretched endlessly across one wall, framing the rain outside like a living painting. She could see the street glistening, reflections rippling across puddles, and people moving beneath a sea of umbrellas.

"It's been forever," her friend said, laughing as she slid into the chair opposite her. "I can't believe we're actually here  -  in person  -  after so long."

Her heart warmed instantly.

Her best friend. The one constant from high school.

The one who had been there through every exam, every late-night call, every small heartbreak, every shared silence that didn't need words.

"I know," she said, smiling as she stirred the foam on her latte. "We talk all the time, but it's just… different, isn't it? Sitting together like this."

Her friend nodded, eyes soft with nostalgia. "You haven't changed a bit," she teased gently. "Still the same  -  calm, put together, always thinking five steps ahead."

She smiled, ducking her head slightly. "You make that sound like a bad thing."

"It's not." Her friend leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand. "But I can tell when something's off. You sound the same, you even act the same, but…" She tilted her head, studying her face closely. "Your eyes. They're tired."

Her smile faltered, just slightly  -  so slightly that anyone else might have missed it. But her best friend didn't.

"What is it?" her friend asked softly. "You've been holding something in, haven't you?"

The café sounds dimmed around her  -  the clinking of cups, the low hum of conversation, the muffled sound of rain outside  -  all blurring into background noise.

For a heartbeat, she didn't speak. Her fingers traced the rim of her cup, her gaze unfocused, distant.

Her friend reached across the table, her voice quieter now. "Hey. You don't have to hide it from me."

And that was all it took.

The mask she wore every day  -  the calm, composed version of herself  -  trembled.

She swallowed, her breath catching. Her lips parted, but the words didn't come right away.

Finally, she whispered, "I'm just… tired."

Her friend didn't interrupt. Just waited.

"Tired of pretending I'm okay all the time. Tired of trying to stay focused so I don't have to think about everything else."

Her voice wavered — just slightly — before settling again. She looked down, her fingers tracing the rim of her cup, and for a heartbeat, a memory flickered uninvited.

The hospital waiting room. White walls. The hum of machines that never stopped. Her mother’s hand was clutching hers a little too tightly. The kind of silence that wasn’t peaceful — it was the kind that stayed long after people left.

It had been years since then, but the habit of quiet had never left her. Somewhere along the way, she’d mistaken control for safety, solitude for peace.

Her voice broke slightly. She blinked, but a tear escaped anyway, sliding silently down her cheek.

"I know I seem fine. I study, I work, I don't get distracted. But that's the only way I can manage," she said quietly, almost to herself. "If I slow down, if I stop… it all catches up. The noise, the pressure, the memories…" She trailed off, pressing her lips together, shaking her head as if to stop herself.

Her friend's expression softened  -  not pity, but understanding. "You don't let anyone close," she said gently. "Not really. You always say you're busy, or you don't feel like going out. But it's more than that, isn't it?"

She looked down, her fingers tightening around the cup. "Maybe. It's easier that way. People don't stay. Or they misunderstand. And I'm just… done trying to explain myself."

For a moment, silence hung between them  -  heavy but not uncomfortable. Her friend reached out and placed her hand over hers, warm and steady. "You don't have to explain to me. Just breathe. You're allowed to be tired."

Her throat tightened again, but this time, she didn't try to stop the tears. They came quietly  -  not sobs, not loud  -  just silent, trembling breaths that spoke louder than words.

Below, unseen through the one-way glass, the rain continued to fall in silver streaks. She didn't know that someone downstairs had seen her only minutes ago  -  running across the zebra crossing, smiling brighter than the rain itself. She didn't know that, to him, she had looked like the happiest person in the world.

But here, in the quiet corner upstairs, the truth unfolded  -  that even the brightest smiles can carry unseen weight.

Her friend squeezed her hand gently, offering a soft smile. "You're stronger than you think, you know that, right?"

She nodded, brushing her tears away with the back of her hand, forcing a small smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Maybe someday I'll believe that."

Outside, the rain softened into a drizzle, light catching on the glass like scattered diamonds.

She looked out for a moment, the reflection of the street lights glimmering in her eyes. Somewhere below, behind that very glass, he still sat  -  unaware of the quiet storm she carried inside.

And though the world looked peaceful through the rain, something had shifted in her  -  a fragile calm before another chapter she didn't yet see coming.