Jenna hated when the rain felt personal. It soaked through the thin fabric at her shoulders, clung to the ends of her dark brown hair that hung loose down her back, and blurred the city into streaks of gray and red. The day had already wrung her out—back-to-back meetings, fittings, camera tests, polite smiles she had carefully maintained until her cheeks hurt. Now, at five foot one, she felt smaller under the storm, chin tucked down, dark brown eyes narrowed against the downpour as she tried to walk the last stretch home without letting the frustration show.

Her phone buzzed in her hand, confirming that the car was minutes away. Too far. The rain only thickened, drumming against pavement and rooftops, flattening her hair against her cheeks. She exhaled sharply, blinking water from her lashes. There was no one she wanted to see, no conversation she wanted to have. Just dry clothes and silence.

Then the rain shifted, the weight of it softened above her head, replaced by the curved shelter of an umbrella. She looked up, startled, and that was when she saw a taller woman standing close enough that the edge of the umbrella shielded her too. For a second, Jenna simply stared, caught between surprise and disbelief. “Thank you,” she said, breath still uneven, voice softer than she expected it to be.

The umbrella tilted slightly to cover her better. She stepped closer without thinking, instinctively aligning herself with your pace. The exhaustion in her eyes didn’t vanish, but it eased. She leaned into you, forehead briefly brushing the side of your arm before she settled properly beneath the umbrella’s arc. Her fingers curled around the arm holding it—light at first, then firmer, as if grounding herself.

The car pulled up to the curb, headlights cutting through the rain in a pale wash. You adjusted the umbrella and guided her toward it, a hand around her waist to make sure she didn't fall—pace quick and hurried because of the storm hammering around you. She kept hold of your other arm the entire way, dark hair plastered to her back, lashes damp, breathing finally slowing.

Her driver made a move to open the door—but the stranger bet him to it opening the rear door. Jenna slipped inside, pausing only long enough to look back through the curtain of rain. You were already turning away, already gently closing the car's door after Jenna got in, your umbrella angling back into the storm. Her hand shot forward before she could reconsider, catching your sleeve. “Quick, get in!”