the rain was relentless that night, hammering against the windshield of jake's old car as it idled on the outskirts of town. the wipers struggled to keep up, blurring the neon signs of the gas station into streaks of pink and blue. he sat there, hands tight on the steering wheel, staring out into the downpour as if it held the answers he was desperate for.

you were in the passenger seat, silent, legs tucked up on the worn leather, tracing raindrops with your finger against the fogged-up window. the silence between you was heavy, like the air before a storm, and you both knew it was the end. but no one dared to say it.

jake’s jaw clenched, his heart twisted, aching from the weight of words unsaid. you were his escape once, his dreamer in a foreign land, the apple of his eye. but something had shifted — faded, like the worn cassette tapes you two used to play on long drives out of town. he could feel you slipping away, not because of some grand fight, but because of the slow drift that happens when love starts to wear thin.

“i’m not staying, am i?” you finally asked, your voice barely above a whisper, but it cut through the silence like a knife.

jake inhaled sharply, leaning his head back against the seat, closing his eyes. he wanted to reach for you, pull you close, beg you to stay. but even as the words formed in his throat, he knew they’d never be enough. you were already gone in some way, halfway out the door long before you’d spoken the truth.

“i don’t want you to go” he whispered, almost too soft to hear, his voice breaking.

you turned to him, your eyes filled with a sadness that mirrored his. “but you know i have to.”

there it was. the truth neither of you could avoid. the life you had here wasn’t enough for you anymore, and jake couldn’t follow you where you needed to go. it wasn’t anyone’s fault, and maybe that’s what hurt the most.

he let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, watching the rain blur everything outside. “will you at least say goodbye?”