by dedeh Chapter One — When Rain Brings Back MemoriesThe rain came without warning.It began as a soft drizzle, then turned into a wild downpour that blurred the world into silver streaks. Faith gripped the steering wheel tighter, her headlights cutting through the curtain of rain as she drove along the quiet road that led back to Lilongwe. The wipers squeaked frantically, but they were losing the battle.“Not now,” she muttered, tapping the dashboard as the car coughed once, then again — and died.She sighed, leaning back in the seat. Her phone had only two bars of signal left, and the sky outside was a deep charcoal gray. The universe had a way of choosing the worst moments to test her patience.Faith Thangire was not a woman who liked being stranded — not after the week she’d just had. Her art exhibition in Blantyre had gone well, but she was exhausted, mentally and emotionally. The silence of the road pressed against her as she exhaled deeply, closing her eyes.Then came the sound — the faint crunch of tires against gravel. Her eyes snapped open.Through the rain, she saw headlights approaching, slow and steady. The car stopped behind hers, and for a moment, Faith’s heart skipped. A tall figure stepped out, holding an umbrella.Her breath caught.That walk. That posture. That same calm confidence.“Faith?” a voice called through the rain.She froze. It couldn’t be. It had been years since she’d heard that voice — warm, teasing, and maddeningly familiar.“Ethan?” she whispered, stepping out into the rain.And there he was — Ethan Banda.Older, broader, and somehow even more handsome than she remembered. His dark jacket was soaked at the shoulders, his hair slightly longer now, but his smile — that easy, boyish grin — hadn’t changed a bit.“I’ll be damned,” he said, laughing. “Still terrible with cars, I see.”Faith laughed too, the sound shaky but genuine. “And you still think you can fix everything.”“Of course I can. Some things don’t change.”He leaned under her car’s hood, pretending to inspect it while she stood beside him, her umbrella tilted clumsily to cover them both. For a moment, neither spoke. The rain softened into a steady rhythm, like an old song they both remembered.When the car refused to start, Ethan closed the hood and turned to her.“There’s no point fighting it tonight,” he said. “You’ll have to stay at my place. It’s not far.”Faith hesitated. The logical part of her screamed no — this was Ethan, her best friend from years ago, the one she’d silently fallen in love with and then left behind. But the rain was cold, the road was empty, and something in his eyes — kind, steady, familiar — made her nod.“Just until morning,” she murmured.---Ethan’s house was warm and inviting, with the faint scent of coffee and cedarwood. She noticed little things — the same blue mug from college on the counter, a bookshelf stacked with business books and art magazines. He’d always read her kind of books, even when he didn’t understand them.“Still keeping my art magazines?” she asked, teasing.He shrugged, smiling. “Maybe I was hoping you’d come back for them.”Faith rolled her eyes, but her heart fluttered. She tried to hide it.They ate dinner together — leftover pasta and tea — and the laughter came easily, just like it used to. Every joke, every glance felt like picking up a conversation that had only paused, not ended.“So, the great Faith Thangire,” Ethan said, leaning back in his chair. “The artist everyone’s talking about. I saw your name in the paper last month.”“You read the arts section now?” she teased.“Only when you’re in it.”She blushed, looking away. His voice had softened, that familiar playful tone now tinged with something deeper — something that made the air between them heavier.After dinner, Faith wandered into the living room. On the mantelpiece were photos — Ethan with his coworkers, his mother, a few travel shots. But one frame made her stop.It was a photo of the two of them — back in university, laughing, his hand on her shoulder, her head tilted toward him. She remembered that day. He had been teasing her about her paint-stained hands. Back then, she hadn’t realized how he looked at her when she wasn’t watching.“You still have this?” she asked quietly.Ethan joined her, standing close enough that she could feel his warmth.“Some memories are worth keeping.”Faith turned toward him. “After all these years?”His eyes held hers. “Especially after all these years.”The silence stretched — long, fragile, full of things they never said.“Ethan…” she began, but her voice faltered.He stepped closer, just enough that she could see the glint of rain still caught in his hair. “You ever think about u