The first cold drop hit Bea’s wounded forehead like a warning that had come too late. It stung. Another slid down her cheek and mingled with the dried blood, something she no longer recognized as part of herself. Then the rain came down in full force, without transition – heavy, thick, indifferent. In seconds, the world turned to water.

She did not seek shelter.

She stood there, motionless, while the rain washed over her face and carved reddish paths across her skin, as if her body were trying to slowly disintegrate. Her clothes soaked up quickly, clung to her, and gained weight. The fabric pulled her shoulders down insistently, as if the world demanded she remain bent over. Cold water trickled down the nape of her neck, and her whole body trembled.

Bea couldn’t tell if it was punishment or purification. Maybe it was nothing. Maybe it was just indifference, like almost everything.

When she opened her eyes, the world was blurred. Not just by the water, but by the weariness that had already settled too deep inside. People hurried past under colorful umbrellas, dodging her with the ease of someone skirting a puddle. Bea didn’t exist there. She was just a gray blur on an ugly morning.

She shoved her hands into her pockets in a futile attempt to warm herself. The cold had long since passed through her skin. It was inside.

Why keep trying?

The question arose automatically, cruel, old-fashioned. When everything seemed to conspire against someone, insisting sounded almost like stupid stubbornness. An emotional miscalculation.

Even so, the feet moved.

One step. Then another.

It wasn’t strength. Nor hope. It was inertia. Continuing required less energy than stopping. Giving up seemed to demand something Bea simply didn’t have anymore. And there was Oli. Always Oli. An inevitable thought – an anchor and a prison at the same time.

That wouldn’t be fair to him.

Or would it be?

The rain didn’t let up. On the contrary, it seemed to follow each block with greater intensity, as if the sky had decided to follow her to the end of that pathetic journey. The sound of the raindrops on the asphalt mingled with horns, hurried footsteps, and impatient engines. The city continued to be alive and noisy, while Bea merely passed through it – wet, invisible.

The backpack grew heavier with each passing minute. Her clothes clung to her icy skin, and the cold seeped into her bones with cruel patience. Her second job was twelve blocks away. Another neighborhood. Another version of herself she would have to embody.

She was in the middle of the sidewalk when it happened.

She didn’t see the bicycle. She only felt the sharp impact on her side. The world spun too fast, and the ground came crashing down on her. Bea fell to her knees on the soaked sidewalk, the pain shooting up her legs as her hands met the cold concrete. The cyclist fell too, cursing, trying to get up while adjusting the bent handlebars.

“Damn it, watch where you’re going!” he shouted, his irritation overflowing.

Bea stood there a second longer than necessary. The rain beat hard against her face, mingling with the tears she didn’t even remember allowing. She didn’t answer. She didn’t apologize. She didn’t argue.

She stood up slowly, her whole body protesting, and simply nodded.

Because, deep down, he was right.

She really hadn’t been paying attention to where she was going. For a long time.

Her gaze fell to the floor. The phone was there, open, the screen shattered into an uneven web of cracks. It looked like a map of nowhere. Bea knelt down carefully and picked it up with trembling fingers. Water trickled down her sleeves as she pressed the side button. Once. Twice.

Nothing.

The screen remained black. Silent. Dead.

A low sigh escaped her – not of anger, nor of sadness. Of acceptance. It was strange how certain losses no longer hurt. They simply added, silently, to a pile of broken things that Bea carried with her. She put her cell phone in her pocket, as if it still had some use, and stood up, ignoring the burning sensation on her scraped knees.

“I’m sorry…” she murmured, more out of habit than conviction.

The cyclist was already too busy with his own bicycle to care. Bea turned her back before he could say anything else and limped on, then ran the rest of the way. Each step elicited a complaint from her body, but she kept going. She always kept going.

When she pushed open the glass door of the cafeteria, the heat hit her like an almost violent shock. The smell of fresh coffee and warm bread filled her lungs – dense, too comforting for someone like her. The bell above the door jingled, and a voice called her name with genuine surprise.

“Bea!”

Marco rushed out from behind the counter. In his early twenties, curly hair falling into his eyes, a lightness incompatible with real life. He looked her up and down, his eyes wide.

“You look like you stepped out of a disaster movie,” he said, half laughing, half worried. “My God, you’re soaked. And... hurt.”

Bea stared at him for a few seconds, trying to process everything since dawn: the store, Nico, the bus, the rain, the ground, the dead cell phone. None of it could be put into words.

“It’s raining,” she finally replied.

Marco chuckled briefly and shook his head.

“Oh, no shit, Sherlock…” he approached and gently took her arm. “Come on. You can’t work like this. You’ll freeze.”

He led her to the small back room, half changing room, half storage room. The place smelled of cheap detergent and stale coffee. Marco sat her down in a chair and practically ran out.

“Wait a second. Lili probably has an extra outfit she can lend you.”

Bea lay there, dripping onto the floor, feeling her body finally demand its full toll all at once. Her forehead throbbed. Her knees burned. Exhaustion spread inside her like a dark stain.

Shortly after, Lili appeared.

That week, her hair was neon green – impossible to ignore. She stopped in front of Bea, crossed her arms, and silently analyzed her for seconds that went on for far too long.

And Bea knew, without a word being spoken, that she wasn’t as invisible as she would have liked.

Lili watched her for a few seconds before speaking again. Her gaze swept over the soaked clothes, the makeshift cut on her forehead, and the way Bea occupied so little space in the world at that moment.

“Was it all the rain?” he gestured vaguely toward her.

Bea forced a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. An old, automatic reflex.

“A mix of rain, a lost bus, and… Nico.”

The name hung in the air like something spoiled. A bad smell that no one needed to explain.

Lili made an immediate grimace, her nose wrinkling as she rummaged through her backpack at the back of the closet.

“Nico?” she repeated, her voice thick with irritation. “Is that jerk still bothering you?”

She grabbed a few clothes and threw them on the bench: a faded, oversized black band t-shirt and a pair of gray sweatpants that seemed too big even for her. Sometimes, Bea forgot that Lili had an almost affectionate relationship with oversized clothes – as if she needed extra space between the fabric and the world.

“Here,” Lili said, pushing the clothes toward her. “It’s not your style, but it’s what I have. At least it’s dry.”

Bea picked everything up with her still-cold fingers, keeping her eyes downcast.

“Thank you, Lili…”

‘No problem.” Lili sat on the stool between the cabinets and nodded quickly. “Go on. Get in there before you freeze completely. Oh!” she added, as if remembering something trivial. “I forgot to tell you…”

Bea entered the small bathroom and closed the door behind her while Lili’s voice continued outside, too cheerful for that hour. She stood in front of the mirror for a few seconds. The reflection looked like someone who had been left behind. Sunken eyes. Skin too pale. The cut on her forehead still red, barely concealed.

She looked away.

While Lili spoke, for the thousandth time, about her obsessive search for the person whose name was engraved on her belly, Bea began to take off her wet clothes. The heavy fabric fell to the floor with a mournful sound, and the relief was immediate as her skin finally breathed. She ran the towel through her hair and across her face, drying what she could, avoiding looking in the mirror again. She already knew what it would say.

Look at yourself.

She put on the loose t-shirt, which fell to mid-thigh, and then the pants, tightening the drawstring as much as possible. Lili was thin, but much taller. Still, the clothes served their purpose. They were dry. They smelled of soap and something floral – probably her perfume. A scent too clean for Bea.

“So…” Bea’s voice came through the door. “How many people did you narrow down your list to?”, she tied her wet hair up in a loose bun.

“Inside my college?” she replied. “Five.”

“Five is still quite a lot,” Bea commented. “And what if it’s not someone from your college?”

Bea pressed her cold forehead against the door for a second.

“Then I’m screwed,” she said. “I have no idea how many people in this city are named Oliver.”

A laugh escaped before she could contain it.

“Not ironically…” she added in a whisper. “It’s my brother’s name.’

On the other side of the door, silence fell immediately.

“You’re kidding,” Lili said after a few seconds.

“I wish,” Bea murmured.

When she came out of the bathroom, Lili stared at her as if she had just revealed something forbidden.

“Is there…” she began slowly, still trying to process it. “Is there a real possibility that we could become sisters-in-law someday?”

Bea shrugged. It was a gesture she’d been using too often lately.

A gesture that said it all without requiring effort.

“If you want to confirm, I’ll take you to visit him.” She paused briefly. “But I fully support you if you want to remove the name.”

Lili bit her lip, lost in thought.

“But isn’t that wrong?” she asked. “Erasing the name…”

Bea thought about the entire morning compressed inside her body. Nico. The blood. The bus leaving. The broken cell phone. The relentless exhaustion.

“There’s so much wrong in this world…” she replied, her voice low. “Erasing a name doesn’t sound so bad.”

Lili didn’t answer immediately. She just watched her, her eyes softer now.

And Bea thought that, if destiny truly existed, it had a cruel sense of humor. Some people received promises etched into their skin. Others received debts, losses, and names that hurt just to exist.

When they came out from the back, Marco was filling a mug with hot coffee. He handed it to her without saying anything, just with that smile that never asked for explanations.

“Here. This will help,” he said. “I added milk and a little caramel, just the way you like it.”

Bea held the mug with both hands. The heat seeped through the ceramic and spread through her fingers, rising slowly, as if trying to convince her to remain whole. The steam touched her face, moistening her eyes, and for a second she thought she was going to cry… but that wasn’t it. It was just her body reacting to something that still worked.

“Thank you,” she murmured.

She felt a spark of warmth inside her. Too small to be comforting. Fragile, like a lit candle in a drafty room. It could go out at any moment. Even so, Bea clung to it.

Marco nodded and pointed to the counter.

“Let’s go. The shift is just beginning.”

She took a deep breath before agreeing. The air felt heavy, as always, but Bea pushed her body forward nonetheless. She walked to the counter with steps firmer than she felt inside. Sometimes, moving forward has nothing to do with strength. It’s just about keeping moving because stopping feels worse.

The afternoon passed without major complications. A strange, almost suspicious calm, as if the world had decided to offer a temporary truce. The coffee shop was cozy: low voices, the hiss of the espresso machine, the delicate sound of cups being stacked. Everything seemed to function in harmony.

Everything but Bea.