I didn’t speak.He didn’t move. The umbrella didn’t do anything except hover like a fragile lie, keeping maybe one shoulder dry and letting the rest of him drown in that dramatic, cinematic rain that only seems to fall when God’s in a mood. His hair was plastered to his forehead and his button-down clung to him like it missed him too. I hated the way he looked at me like I still meant something. Like the space between us was a secret he couldn’t keep quiet anymore. I hated it because I wanted to mean something. I hated it because I still wasn’t sure if I wanted to be forgiven or forgotten. My throat was a grenade. My arms were jelly. My heart had decided we were going for a jog through hell.
“Why are you here?” I whispered.
His fingers curled tighter around the umbrella like he didn’t tru
