Chapter 2

The rain followed me the entire way home. It wasn’t heavy at first. Just a quiet drizzle that settled into my hair and clothes without urgency. The kind of rain most people ignored. But I didn’t ignore it. I never could. Rain had a way of pulling things out of me I didn’t ask for. Memories I didn’t want. Feelings I didn’t understand.

The streets blurred slightly as droplets gathered along my lashes. I didn’t wipe them away. I let them fall. Let them disappear before I could decide whether they mattered. People hurried past me, shielding themselves with bags or jackets. Some ran. Some laughed. Some complained.

I walked normally. Like the rain and I had an understanding.

By the time I reached my apartment building, the drizzle had grown into something steadier. The pavement reflected the dull glow of streetlights, turning everything into distorted mirrors.

I climbed the stairs slowly.

Step.

Each one echoing faintly in the empty stairwell. My hand rested lightly on the railing, cool and smooth beneath my fingers. And then—

It happened again.

A memory. Stronger this time. Rain. Just like this but warmer.

Louder.

Brighter.

“I told you it would rain.”

His voice.

Clear.

Close.

I stood beneath the covered walkway outside our high school building, watching the rain pour down in sheets. Students crowded around me, complaining, laughing, calling their parents. But I wasn’t listening to them.

I was listening to him.

“I didn’t believe you,” I said.

He laughed softly.

“You never do.”

I turned toward him.

I couldn’t see his face clearly. Not anymore. But I remembered how it felt to stand there beside him.

Easy. Natural. Like it was where I belonged.

“You’ll get sick,” he said.

I shrugged. “It’s just rain.”

He was quiet for a moment.

Then he stepped forward.

Closer.

Too close.

“You always say that,” he said.

My heart beat faster. I didn’t know why. Or maybe I did.

“I don’t mind,” I replied.

He didn’t answer.

He just looked at me.

And for a moment, everything else disappeared.The noise.

The people. The world. It was just him and me.

And the rain.

—

I blinked.

The memory dissolved instantly, like it had never existed.I was standing in front of my apartment door. My hand hovered near the handle.

My chest rose and fell unevenly. I didn’t remember climbing the rest of the stairs. I didn’t remember reaching the door.mBut I was here.

The present always returned eventually. No matter how far the past tried to pull me back. I unlocked the door and stepped inside. The apartment greeted me with silence. The familiar kind. The kind that wrapped around me without asking permission. I set my bag down on the small table near the entrance and slipped off my shoes. My clothes clung slightly to my skin, damp from the rain.

I should change. I knew that. But I didn’t move.

I just stood there. Listening to nothing or maybe to something I couldn’t name.

My phone was still in my bag, I could feel its presence without touching it.

Still silent.

Still waiting.

Just like this morning.

I walked toward the window. Rain traced thin lines down the glass, distorting the outside world into something softer. Less real. I rested my hand lightly against the cool surface. Why did it still feel like he was there?

Not physically.

Not truly.

But close.

Like something unfinished lingered between the spaces of my life.

I closed my eyes and for a moment— I almost heard his voice again.

A knock shattered the silence.

Sharp.

Clear.

Real.

My eyes opened instantly. My body froze.

The sound echoed through the apartment, louder than it should have been. I stared at the door. My heart began to pound.

No one ever visited me.

No one came unannounced.

Another knock.

My breath caught.

A thousand thoughts rushed through my mind all at once.

It could be anyone.

A neighbor.

A mistake.

A delivery.

Anyone.

But there was only one person I wanted it to be and the thought terrified me.

Slowly, I stepped toward the door. Each movement felt heavier than the last.

My hand trembled slightly as I reached it.

I stopped just inches away.

The silence on the other side felt alive.

Waiting.

Just like I was.

My heart beat louder.

Faster.

I didn’t know why I was afraid or why I was hoping. I swallowed.

My fingers hovered over the handle. And for the first time in a long time—

I didn’t know what would happen next.

I opened the door slowly. Carefully.

Like whatever waited on the other side might disappear if I moved too fast.

The hallway light flickered faintly above, casting a dull yellow glow across the empty corridor.

There was no one there.

My eyes searched the space instinctively.

Left and right yet still nothing.

Just silence. Just the hum of the old overhead light and the distant sound of rain outside. My chest tightened.

It wasn’t him. Of course, it wasn’t. I didn’t know why I expected anything different. My hand remained on the doorframe, fingers curled lightly against the cold surface, as if holding onto it could stop the feeling spreading through me.

Disappointment was a quiet thing. It didn’t crash into you. It didn’t demand attention. It simply settled inside you, heavy and familiar.

I stepped forward slightly, leaning into the hallway. Still nothing.

No footsteps retreating.

No shadow disappearing.

No sign anyone had ever been there.

Maybe I imagined it. Maybe someone knocked on the wrong door.

Maybe—

I stopped myself. There was no point in creating explanations for something that had no answers. Slowly, I closed the door.

The click of the lock echoed louder than it should have. I stood there for a moment, staring at the wood, my reflection faintly visible in its polished surface.

“You’re being stupid,” I whispered to myself. The words didn’t help.

My phone rang.

The sudden sound startled me, sharp and intrusive against the silence. My heart jumped before I could stop it.

I reached for it quickly.

For a moment—

Just a moment—

I thought it might be the same unknown number. But it wasn’t.

Eloise.

I answered immediately.

“Hello?”

“Hey,” her voice came through, warm and familiar. “Were you busy?”

“No.”

A pause.

“Did I interrupt something?”

“No,” I repeated softly.

She hummed faintly, like she didn’t fully believe me, but didn’t press it.

“I was just calling to ask,” she began, “are you free tommorow night?”

“tomorrow?”

“Yeah. Some of us are going out. There’s this bar near the old cinema. Nothing big. Just… hanging out.”

The old cinema.

My chest tightened slightly at the words, though I didn’t know why.

“I can go,” I said.

The answer came automatically. Too automatically.

“Really?”

“Yes.”

Another pause.This one longer.

“You sound weird.”

I forced a small breath. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not.”

She didn’t say it accusingly. She said it gently. Like she was reaching for something fragile. I leaned against the wall, sliding down slowly until I was sitting on the floor.

“I’m just tired,” I said.

“Cionnee.”

The way she said my name made my chest ache. She had always known when I was lying. Even when I barely knew it myself.

I stared at the floor. At nothing.

“At work today,” I said quietly, “I thought I saw him.”

The words felt strange leaving my mouth. Like they didn’t belong to me.

Eloise didn’t interrupt. She never did.

“I followed him,” I continued. “I really thought it was him.”

My throat tightened.

“But it wasn’t.”

Silence filled the space between us. Not empty. Not uncomfortable.

Just present.

“I also got a call this morning,” I added. “From an unknown number.”

“What did they say?”

“Nothing.”

I swallowed.

“And someone knocked on my door just now.”

Her voice softened even more.

“And no one was there.”

It wasn’t a question. It was understanding.

I closed my eyes.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” I whispered.

“There’s nothing wrong with you,” she replied immediately.

Her certainty made something inside me tremble.

“You’re remembering,” she said.

I didn’t answer. Because she was right.

“And remembering doesn’t mean you’re weak,” she continued. “It just means it mattered.”

My chest tightened.

“It still matters,” I admitted.

The words barely existed above a whisper.

She didn’t try to argue with me. She didn’t try to fix it. She just stayed.

“I’m here,” she said softly.

And somehow, those two words were enough to keep me from falling apart completely.

We stayed on the phone like that for a while. Neither of us speaking. Just breathing. Just existing. Before she spoke again.

“Did you take your meds today?”

The question came gently. Carefully. Like she was afraid of the answer.

I hesitated.

“…No.”

I heard her exhale. Not angry. Not disappointed.

Just concerned.

“Can you take them now?”

I stared at the ceiling.

“I will.”

“Promise?”

“…Promise.”

She paused.

“Tommorow,” she said again. “We’ll go together.”

“Okay.”

“You won’t be alone.”

I didn’t realize how much I needed to hear that until she said it.

After we said goodbye, the silence returned. But it didn’t feel as heavy as before. I stood up slowly and walked toward the small cabinet near my bed.

Inside was the familiar orange bottle. I held it in my hand for a moment.

Then opened it and did what she asked.

Later that night, I sat on the floor beside my bed. I didn’t know why I was there.

Or what I was looking for. My fingers brushed against something beneath the bed frame. Something small. Something forgotten.

I reached for it.

An old phone.

My old phone.

I stared at it, my reflection faintly visible on its dark, lifeless screen.I hadn’t seen it in years. I didn’t remember keeping it. But I never threw it away either.

My thumb pressed the power button. For a moment, nothing happened.

Then—

The screen flickered and turned on.

My breath caught.

The wallpaper appeared instantly.

It was us.

Him.

And me.

Standing side by side beneath soft pink cherry blossoms.

I froze.

I remembered that day. I remembered everything.

The air had smelled like spring.

Fresh.

Alive.

Cherry blossom petals drifted slowly around us, carried by the gentle wind. Some landed in his hair. Some on my shoulders.

He laughed when I tried to brush them away.

“Leave them,” he said.

“You look stupid,” I replied.

“You look nervous.”

“I’m not nervous.”

He smiled.

That quiet smile he only showed when it was just us. We walked slowly beneath the trees, our shoulders brushing occasionally. Neither of us pulling away.

Neither of us acknowledging it.

“I have a question,” he said suddenly.

I glanced at him. “What?”

He looked ahead, not at me.

“Do you ever think about the future?”

The question caught me off guard.

“The future?”

He nodded.

“Yes.”

I thought about it. About everything ahead of us. Everything we didn’t know yet.

“Sometimes,” I admitted.

He was quiet for a moment. Cherry blossoms fell between us.