When The Rain Paused

Chapter 3

That night, I lay on the couch, still surrounded by the comforting mess of half-unpacked boxes and the smell of newly dried paint. The lights were dim, just my fairy lights flickering above the shelves, casting shadows like stars across the walls.

I could’ve slept, but my thoughts were loud.

'I meant you. You’re amazing'

What did that even mean? And why did it feel so personal, so careful, like he’d picked each word knowing it might tip something over inside me?

I groaned and pulled a pillow over my face.

Then, my phone buzzed.

Ryan [9:43 PM]:

Hey. Did the plants survive the trauma?

I stared at the message. Then smiled.

Me [9:44 PM]:

The monstera’s still dramatic. But he’ll live.

Ryan [9:44 PM]:

You gave it your attitude, huh? Poor plant.

Me [9:45 PM]:

He deserved it. He flopped over just to make a point.

There was a pause. Then another buzz

Ryan [9:46 PM]:

Hey... I meant what I said earlier.

I stopped breathing for a second.

Me [9:46 PM]:

About the plant? Or me being amazing? 🤨

Ryan [9:46 PM]: Both. But mostly the second.

Ryan [9:47 PM]: You’re doing something brave, Lia. And I just... noticed. That’s all.

I sat up, staring at the screen.

I didn’t know how to reply right away. I wasn’t used to being seen like that—not as the youngest in the family, not as the flustered girl with paint on her face. Just… me.

So I typed slowly.

Me [9:49 PM]:

Thank you. I don’t always feel brave. I just… wanted to do something that felt mine.

Ryan [9:49 PM]:

Well. You did. And for what it’s worth, I think it suits you.

I smiled.

And before I could overthink it, I typed something impulsive.

Me [9:51 PM]:

You weren’t so bad today either. Maybe less annoying than I remember.

Ryan [9:52 PM]:

High praise. I’ll take it.

Another pause.

Then...

Ryan [9:53 PM]:

Want to grab coffee tomorrow? Just you and me.

I stared at the screen, my heart kicked up again. This wasn’t just helping out anymore. This was... something else. Something real.

I bit my lip, hesitating for a moment. But only for a moment.

Me [9:54 PM]:

Sure. Just no glue in the hair this time.`

Ryan[9:54 PM]:

No promises

I locked my phone, placed it on my chest, and stared up at the ceiling.

And for the first time in a while, I didn’t feel so unsure about where I was.

My life, this space, this beginning, it felt messy and unfinished. But for some reason, that no longer felt so scary, because maybe the best stories begin just like that. With a mess, and someone who decides to stay anyway.

I woke up earlier than usual the next day, though I hadn’t exactly slept much.

I blamed Ryan. And his you’re 'amazing' text. And that 'grab coffee? just you and me' message. And mostly, I blamed myself for smiling at my phone like a teenager in a teen drama.

I spent a solid twenty minutes picking out clothes, nothing too dressy, nothing too plain, and definitely nothing with paint stains. I settled for a soft cream top and jeans, then tied my hair up, then down, then up again. Ugh.

Why was I nervous?

This wasn’t a date.

Just coffee.

With Ryan.

Who used to annoy the life out of me.

Who now somehow made my stomach do strange gymnastics.

"You're overthinking," I told the mirror

The mirror did not disagree

---

We agreed to meet at a small café two blocks away from my place, a quiet, tucked-in spot with glass walls and hanging vines. It smelled like freshly ground beans and warm sugar, and it had that cozy buzz of background chatter and clinking cups.

I arrived two minutes early.

Ryan arrived five minutes late.

“Sorry,” he said, slightly out of breath. “Had to convince my cat not to follow me out the door.”

“You have a cat?” I asked, already amused.

“I have a cat who thinks he owns the house,” he said, holding up his phone to show a picture of a fat tabby sprawled over a laptop.

“That’s... relatable,” I said, smirking.

We ordered, mine was iced caramel macchiato as always, his was black coffee surprisingly dramatic and sat by the window where the sun hit just right.

“So,” he said, leaning on the table, “tell me something real.”

I blinked. “What?”

“Something not small talk. Something real,” he repeated, smiling like it was a challenge.

I took a sip of my drink to stall. Then said slowly, “Okay... I used to write poems on my bedroom wall when I was sixteen.”

He looked impressed. “That’s kind of cool. Still write them?”

“Only in notebooks I don’t let anyone see,” I said.

He nodded, thoughtful. “Your turn,” I added. “Something real.”

He leaned back in his seat. “Hmm. Okay. I used to come here a lot during senior year. Sat in that corner,” he pointed, “and tried to draw. I’m terrible at it. But I didn’t want to go home most days.”

Something about his voice softened, like the words carried more weight than he let on.

I looked at him differently then not just as Ryan, the teasing guy with stupidly nice hair but someone who’d been through things quietly, like me.

"Why didn't you want to go home?"

He hesitated. "My parents fought a lot back then. The walls in our house felt... thinner than they were. I guess being here felt safer."

I nodded, not prying further. “I get that.”

We didn’t talk for a moment. Just sipped our coffee, watching the morning crowd pass by the window.

Then, as if sensing the mood getting too heavy, Ryan leaned in and grinned.

“I bet your poetry was all sad and dramatic.”

I rolled my eyes. “Excuse me, my teenage heartbreak deserved an artistic outlet.”

He laughed. “Okay, okay. Next time, read me one.”

“In your dreams.”

He looked at me for a second. “Maybe.”

His eyes didn’t move away right away, and my heart did that thing again the flutter, the pause, the 'oh no he’s looking at me again' kind of panic.

I was saved by the bell literally. The café door jingled, and I glanced over without much thought.

And then froze.

A man had just walked in. Not too tall, not too old. Maybe in his 30s. He wore a deep green coat, oddly formal for the weather. But that wasn’t what caught my attention.

It was his eyes.

They flicked toward me as if he knew me. His face unreadable, but still... watching.

I quickly looked away.

Ryan noticed. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” I said, pretending to look at my cup. “Thought I saw someone I knew.”

The man ordered something at the counter, then took a seat at the far end. Still facing us.

Unease curled in my chest like smoke. I didn’t understand why. I’d never seen him before. I thought

Ryan leaned in slightly. “Hey.”

I looked at him.

“You’re safe. Just say the word if you want to leave.”

I nodded, grateful. “Let’s finish our coffee,” I said, forcing a smile.

We tried to steer the conversation back to something lighter. But the mood had shifted.

That man. His stare. Something about him felt... out of place. Out of time.

And as I glanced back one last time. He was gone. Like he had never been there at all

Later that afternoon, I found myself staring at nothing, back in my apartment, coffee cup still half-full on the kitchen counter. Ryan had walked me home, lingering at the door just long enough for my brain to overthink it. He didn’t mention the man in the café again, but I could tell he noticed how it shook me.

I kept replaying it in my head.

That man. That look

It wasn't threatening. It was... searching. Like he was trying to place me in a memory I didn’t know we shared.

I shook the thought off and focused on rearranging the potted plants by the window, hoping a little fresh air would clear my mind. But even as I moved things around, I couldn’t help but glance out the window. Just in case.

Nothing. No green coat. No stranger.

Maybe I had imagined the whole thing. My brain was good at spiraling, especially when I felt vulnerable. And lately, with all the changes, I’d been feeling that more than I wanted to admit.

The apartment still smelled like paint. The bookshelf still sat half-empty. And my heart still beat too fast every time I thought about Ryan.

I picked up my phone.

Me[4:26 PM]:

Hey. Just wanted to say thanks for earlier. For real.

A minute passed.

Ryan [4:27 PM]:

You okay now?

Me [4:28 PM]:

Yeah. Just… overthinking as usual.

Ryan [4:28 PM]:

Want me to come back and help you overthink it?

I smiled, despite everything.

Me [4:29 PM]:

Maybe later. I’m good. Just needed quiet.

Ryan [4:30 PM]:

I get that. I’ll be here when you want noise again.

Something about that, about him saying that, settled something inside me.