LOST IN THE RAIN

Rain poured like the sky was falling apart. Sofia hugged her sketchbook tight and ran across the street. Water splashed into her shoes, cold and sharp. Thunder cracked overhead. She spotted the warm glow of a coffee shop and hurried inside. The bell above the door gave a soft ring before the darkness swallowed her. No lights. Only a few candles glowed on the tables. By the window, a man sat alone. His hair was damp, dark strands curling over his forehead. His shoulders were broad, his back straight, his hands wrapped around a cup like it was the only warm thing left in the world. He looked up. Dark eyes met hers — calm but unreadable. Water dripped from her coat onto the floor. Something about the way he watched her made her feet move toward him. The seat across from him was dry. She sat, the candle between them casting a soft light over his face. “Crazy weather,” she said, her voice low. His lips moved just enough for the hint of a smile. Her eyes flicked to his hands. Strong, steady. She looked away quickly and opened her sketchbook. The page showed a rainy street, drawn in soft pencil lines. His gaze shifted to it. “You draw?” She nodded. “And paint. Anything with colors.” She turned the book so he could see. He studied it for a while. “You like rain.” “It feels like the world’s starting fresh.” The rain outside tapped against the window. “Not everyone sees it that way.” His gaze went back to the glass, as if something out there was holding him. She watched the way his jaw tightened, the quiet heaviness in his shoulders. “How do you see it?” The pause stretched. The candle between them flickered. “Sometimes rain just means you’re stuck.” Her chest tightened. There was something sad in the way he said it. “You sound like someone who’s been stuck for a while.” He turned his eyes back to hers, steady and deep. “Maybe I have.”