I will always love you

Chapter 1: The Echo of the Rain

Seattle's rain had always been a familiar companion—an almost constant presence, soothing in its rhythm, yet relentless in its ability to seep into your bones. Today, as I walked down the crowded streets of downtown, the soft drizzle was no exception. It wasn’t the heavy downpour that some dreaded, but it was enough to make everything feel gray. And that’s exactly how I felt—gray, muted, a person whose world had long ago lost its color.

I pulled the collar of my coat higher, wishing I could pull it over my memories, too, but those were always with me. I never let them slip too far out of reach, no matter how much I wanted to forget. The ghosts of the past lingered in my thoughts, and as the rain continued to fall, I let it wash over me, pretending for just a moment that it could cleanse me, too.

The coffee shop was a few blocks away, and I could already smell the bitter aroma wafting through the air, cutting through the dampness. It was my refuge—a place where I could lose myself in the hum of voices and the steam rising from my cup. I liked being alone in the crowd, faceless and invisible, just another person in the city’s pulse.

As I entered the café, the warmth wrapped around me like a blanket, and I sighed in relief. The familiar hum of the espresso machine, the clink of ceramic cups, and the soft chatter of patrons brought a momentary sense of peace. The barista greeted me with a smile that barely reached his eyes. I’d seen him here often enough to know that he knew me, but neither of us ever bothered with small talk. We both understood that sometimes silence was the best conversation.

I ordered my usual—a cappuccino, extra foam—and found an empty corner by the window. The rain outside blurred the view, the world outside nothing more than shapes and shadows. I pulled out my book, though I wasn’t really reading. I never truly read anymore; I just let the words blur, pretending that a story could take me away. But nothing could. Not anymore.

My fingers absently traced the edge of the cup, my mind far away. It had been a year since I moved here to Seattle, a year since I left everything behind in New York. The pain of that goodbye still felt fresh, a wound that refused to heal. I had hoped a change of scenery would help. I had hoped that time would do its magic. But time, I had learned, was an indifferent ally. It didn’t heal wounds; it simply taught you how to live with them.

My phone buzzed in my pocket, breaking the silence of my thoughts. I hesitated before pulling it out, already knowing who it was. Only one person ever reached out to me at this hour—my best friend, Maya. She had been my anchor in the chaos of my life, though I knew she worried about me more than she let on.

I unlocked the screen and read her message: *"You haven't been answering my calls. Are you okay? I miss you. Call me."*

I didn’t respond right away. I never did. The truth was, I wasn’t okay, but how could I explain that to her? How could I explain the emptiness that lived inside me? The guilt, the regret, the constant feeling that I was walking through life as a shadow of who I used to be.

I stared at the screen for a long moment, the weight of Maya’s words pressing on my chest. Then, I put the phone back in my pocket, choosing silence over conversation. Sometimes, it was easier to hide from the world than to face it.

I took a deep breath and looked out the window again. The rain was still falling, but something was different today. I couldn’t explain it, but there was a shift in the air, a subtle change that I couldn’t quite put my finger on. Maybe it was the way the light seemed to dance in the droplets, or maybe it was something inside of me, something I wasn’t ready to acknowledge.

I leaned back in my chair and closed my eyes, letting the soft hum of the café and the sound of the rain wash over me. For a moment, I allowed myself to just be. To not think. To not worry.

But then, the bell above the door jingled, and I heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps approaching. I didn’t need to look up to know someone was standing nearby. I could feel their presence, an energy that shifted the air in a way I hadn’t felt in months.

When I opened my eyes, there he was.

A man I had never seen before, standing at the counter with a coffee in hand, his eyes scanning the room. He was tall, with dark hair that was tousled just enough to be effortlessly handsome, his leather jacket a sharp contrast to the soft, warm atmosphere of the café. He looked like he didn’t belong here, as if he had stepped out of some other world and into mine.

I quickly looked away, not wanting to get caught staring. I didn’t know why, but something about him unsettled me, like a distant memory tugging at the edges of my mind.

I focused on my book again, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that his presence had disturbed the delicate calm I had so carefully constructed. The rain outside seemed louder now, the world more chaotic, as if the universe was reminding me that peace was never permanent.

I took another sip of my cappuccino, the bitterness cutting through the fog in my mind, and tried to ignore the man who was still standing there, his eyes, like a magnet, drawing me in against my will.