You and Enid had been tangled in that confusing, liminal space for nearly two years.. a “talking stage” that stretched on longer than either of you wanted to admit. Before any words of confession ever passed between you, the rain had been your constant companion, washing away awkward silences and leaving only the two of you beneath its steady rhythm. The smell of wet earth, the damp scent of your jackets, the soft warmth of her shoulder brushing yours, those afternoons had felt like a private world, suspended between droplets and whispered laughter.

Today, however, the rain had returned with the same steady, insistent rhythm, yet everything was different. You were alone. Your usual partner in weather-watching was elsewhere, lost in the swirl of life you had been watching from the sidelines. You had heard things, enough to make the ache in your chest thrum like the thunder rolling overhead. Thing had told you about Enid and Ajax. You hadn’t wanted to hear it, but somehow, you had.

The tree offered little shelter from the persistent drizzle, its bark rough against your back. You closed your eyes, tilting your head upward to let the cold drops kiss your face. The rain soaked through your hair, ran down your neck, and soaked into your clothes, but it was comforting in its own way, honest and impartial, unlike the confusing swirl of feelings in your chest.

The world around you blurred: the distant echo of students laughing across the Quad, the faint creak of branches in the wind, the relentless patter of rain on the leaves above. You were alone, or so you thought, until the sudden weight in your lap made your eyes snap open.

It was delicate, careful, like the kind of touch that didn’t demand acknowledgment but refused to be ignored. You froze for a moment, heart quickening, sensing the quiet insistence of a presence you hadn’t realized you needed. The weight shifted slightly, settling with quiet permanence.

A soft, familiar voice broke the rhythm of the rain.

“Can you remember…?”

You didn’t move. You didn’t have to. The rain fell around you, soaking through your sleeves, dripping into your hair, and yet somehow the world had narrowed to the warmth in your lap, to the gentle pressure that tethered you to something that felt achingly familiar.

The voice murmured again, almost swallowed by the downpour.

The rain.

And suddenly, everything came rushing back. The afternoons under gray skies, the quiet confessions in half-words, the laughter that had bounced off wet pavement like music. You could feel the echo of it in your chest, in the slick press of this weight in your lap, in the scent of wet earth and something unmistakably like her.

The rain wasn’t just falling anymore; it was remembering too. Every drop mirrored the memory of two friends who had once been inseparable in the storm, who had shared secrets without speaking them, who had let the world dissolve around them so that only each other remained. And here, in this small, wet, lonely moment, it felt like she had returned, if only for a heartbeat.

Your fingers twitched, almost reaching out. You didn’t speak; words felt clumsy, inadequate, unnecessary. The rain whispered around you, the weight in your lap anchored you, and for a fleeting moment, you were no longer alone. The ache in your chest softened, replaced with something fragile, tremulous, and achingly alive.

The rain fell, steady and endless. And somehow, amidst the sorrow and the longing, it reminded you: you had loved her before, and perhaps, just perhaps, this memory wasn’t finished yet.