Whispers Beneath the Rain*
1895 Words
*Part 1 — Whispers Beneath the Rain*
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The rain had just started falling when Elara received the letter.
It came in a simple white envelope, no return address, no name — only her own, scrawled in a handwriting she hadn’t seen in years. She stood on her apartment’s tiny balcony, watching the grey sky weep over the sleeping city below. Drops splashed onto the rusted railing, slipping between her fingers as she held the envelope tightly, her heart uncertain whether to open it or burn it.
But curiosity — or maybe hope — won.
Inside, the letter smelled faintly of wild jasmine, a scent that didn’t belong in the city. A scent she hadn’t forgotten.
*"Dear Elara,"* it began,
*"I know I am the last person you ever wanted to hear from. But I write not to reopen wounds — only to confess what I never had the courage to say before..."*
Elara's breath caught.The words were from Aiden. The boy who once sat beside her on the school bus, the boy who carried her books, whispered secrets under oak trees, made paper boats and promises — and then disappeared without goodbye.
For twelve years.
The letter wasn’t dated, but the ink was fresh. As if Aiden had written it just yesterday.
*"I left because I was a coward, Elara. I thought I was protecting you from the mess I was becoming. But all I did was abandon you..."*
She stopped reading. Her hands trembled.
Outside, thunder rolled.
Elara looked up at the sky. For a moment, the raindrops blurred with her tears. She wasn’t sure if they were from anger or longing. Maybe both.
The letter continued,
*"If you’re still reading this, it means part of you remembers me. Maybe even wonders why. I’m in the town again. At the old bookstore, where we used to steal glances and poetry. If you want to see me, come before Sunday. I’ll wait. No questions, no expectations. Just one chance to say the words I should’ve said then."*
No name signed. Just a drawing. A paper boat.
Elara folded the letter gently. Held it to her chest.
Twelve years of silence had spoken.
Now, it was her turn to decide what the next chapter would be.
---
*Whispers Beneath the Rain*
*Part 2: The Bookstore Window*
The bell above the bookstore door jingled like an old memory.
Elara stepped in slowly, her umbrella dripping by the entrance, heart pounding in her chest. It smelled exactly the same — old pages, wood polish, and faint cinnamon from the café next door. The bookstore hadn’t changed in twelve years. But Elara had.
She scanned the room.
Stacks of books leaned against each other like sleepy companions. A gentle tune played from a vinyl record in the corner. And then she saw him — Aiden — sitting by the window where the rain streaked down the glass like silent music.
He hadn’t seen her yet. He was flipping through a worn-out copy of Neruda’s poems, just like he used to. The sight sent a ripple of emotion through her — grief, love, rage, confusion — all tangled like the rain on the glass.
“Elara?” His voice was softer than she remembered, but unmistakable.
She nodded, lips pressed tightly. Her heart screamed questions but her mouth stayed shut.
Aiden stood up slowly. “You came.”
“I read the letter,” she said, her voice steady despite the storm inside. “That’s all.”
He gestured to the seat across from him. “Would you sit? Just for a minute?”
Elara hesitated, then sat. She didn’t remove her coat, didn’t lean back. Her posture was guarded.
There was a long silence.
“I thought you hated me,” he said at last.
“I did,” she whispered. “And then I forgot how to feel anything about you.”
Aiden winced.
“Why now?” she asked. “Why after all this time?”
He looked down at the table. “Because I’m not dying anymore.”
Her eyes widened.
“I was sick, Elara. Back then. It started in high school. I didn’t tell anyone. Not even you. I was ashamed. And scared. I thought... if I stayed, you’d waste your life watching me fall apart.”
Tears welled in her eyes before she could stop them.
“You thought disappearing would protect me?” she said, her voice rising.
“I was 17,” he replied. “And stupid. But I didn’t stop loving you. I just stopped letting you see it.”
Elara stood up abruptly. The chair scraped the floor.
“I waited for a year. A whole year. Do you know that?” Her voice shook. “Every message left unanswered. Every letter I never sent.”
“I read the ones you did,” he said quietly.
She froze.
“I kept them. Every single one. Even when I didn’t reply. They were my only comfort when I was lying in that hospital bed.”
The rain pounded harder outside.
Elara sank back into the chair. “You don’t get to come back now and expect me to care.”
“I don’t,” he said. “But I’m still here. Hoping.”
They sat in silence again. Time slowed. Outside, the world washed clean.
Aiden reached into his bag and placed something on the table.
It was a small wooden box.
“I made this... while I was away,” he said. “Open it when you’re ready. Not now. Not here.”
Elara didn’t touch it.
“I don’t know what this is, Aiden,” she said finally. “I don’t know if I want to forgive you.”
“I don’t deserve it,” he replied. “But I’ll wait again. As long as it takes.”
She stood.
“I don’t promise anything.”
“I don’t ask you to.”
And with that, she left.
Back into the rain.
With the letter in her bag, and a box full of memories waiting to be opened.
---
*Whispers Beneath the Rain*
*Part 3: The Box of Unfinished Things*
Elara placed the wooden box on her kitchen table like it might explode.
For three days, she hadn’t touched it. She’d passed by it a dozen times, her fingers itching to open it, her heart unsure. Rain still fell outside — as if the skies themselves remembered their story and hadn’t moved on.
Finally, on a quiet Sunday morning, she sat down with a cup of tea, stared at the box, and slowly unlatched it.
Inside was a collection of small, delicate things.
A paper crane, folded from one of her old letters.
A dried daisy, pressed between the pages of what used to be her favorite book.
A photograph of them at sixteen — Aiden holding her hand in a field of mustard flowers, both unaware the camera had captured the moment.
And a notebook.
On the cover, Aiden had scribbled:
*“The Things I Meant to Say.”*
She hesitated. Her hands trembled. Then she opened the first page.
_“Dear Elara,
This notebook isn’t an apology — it’s an explanation.
I never knew how to tell you everything while I was still bleeding inside.
So I wrote it here, piece by piece, when I had no one else to tell.”_
She flipped pages.
Each one was filled with pieces of his soul — entries written from hospital beds, drawings of her favorite earrings he remembered, even poems he wrote when missing her became unbearable.
One entry read:
_“I dreamt of her last night.
She was sitting on the old rooftop, feet dangling over the edge, reading her poetry aloud to the stars.
I woke up crying.
The nurse asked why.
I said, ‘Because I don’t think I’ll see her again.’”_
Tears blurred her vision.
She kept reading. Hours passed.
Page after page, Aiden’s pain, love, and silent hope unfolded.
By the end of the notebook, she wasn’t angry anymore.
She was grieving all over again — for the years lost, the laughter missed, the kisses never returned.
She closed the notebook gently and held it to her chest.
She wanted to scream. To cry.
But most of all, she wanted to ask him:
*“Why didn’t you trust me enough to let me stay?”*
Just then, her phone buzzed.
*Aiden:* _“I’m at the rooftop. The one you used to run away to after school. If you come, I’ll wait.”_
Her heart skipped.
She hadn’t been to that rooftop in over a decade.
It was where they first kissed.
Where she once promised she’d write a book about them someday.
Elara looked at the box again.
At the photo.
At the paper crane.
At the memories sealed in wood and ink.
She stood up.
No umbrella this time.
She let the rain fall.
—
The rooftop hadn’t changed.
The rusted railing. The cracked concrete. The distant hum of the city below.
And Aiden.
He was there.
Soaking wet, arms crossed, waiting like a boy who still believed in impossible things.
“You came,” he said.
“I read the notebook.”
“I was afraid you would.”
She walked closer.
“You were an i***t,” she said. “But a beautiful one.”
He smiled faintly.
“Do you still love me, Elara?”
She didn’t answer.
Instead, she stepped forward, closed the distance between them, and rested her forehead against his chest.
“I never stopped.”
And for the first time in years, they didn’t speak.
They just let the rain say everything for them.
—
*Part 4: Echoes Between Heartbeats*
The days that followed were filled with quiet moments—shared coffees, long walks beneath the rustling trees, and gazes that said more than words ever could. Elara often caught herself studying him, as if trying to memorize the version of him that time had shaped.
They never spoke of the years apart. Not directly. But their silences were full of the things they left unsaid—regret, longing, forgiveness.
One evening, as the rain returned, soft and persistent, Elara found an old notebook in his drawer. The pages were worn, ink smudged, and her name appeared again and again.
She paused. “You wrote about me?”
He looked away, almost shy. “It was the only way I could keep breathing.”
Tears welled in her eyes. She turned the pages slowly, reading fragments of memories, dreams, poems—each word a testament to a love that never died.
Later, they stood by the window, watching droplets chase each other down the glass. He reached for her hand.
“Elara,” he whispered, “if I asked you to stay—truly stay—what would you say?”
She didn’t reply right away. The rain outside seemed to mirror the storm within her.
Finally, she looked at him. “Only if you promise never to write about me again… unless I’m in the story with you.”
He smiled, a smile that reached his eyes this time. “Deal.”
And in that moment, the past no longer mattered. Only the chapters they had yet to write.
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- Writer
