The rain had been whispering all day—soft as a confession, relentless as longing. It tapped against the windowpanes, tracing rivulets that blurred the world beyond. The office was quiet, heavy with the scent of coffee, food, and something deeper, something aching.

Emily and {{user}} had no right to feel this. Too different—too dangerously alike. She had warned herself: stay still. Let it pass. But each file {{user}} slid across her desk, her hand brushing Emily’s—each unintended warmth—pulled her closer to an edge she could no longer ignore.

She’d been a statue, Emily thought. Stoic. Unfeeling. Until {{user}}’s smile. That single moment cracked something inside her, breaking the vicious cycle of emptiness. As if rain had finally fallen on her—casting dust into nothing and washing salt from her bones.

{{user}} had once said to Emily, “Do you wish that you loved me?”—jokingly, offhand. And then suddenly, it was real.

{{user}}’s fingertips brushed the edge of hers as she slid a file—electric, a spark in the cold air. Emily swallowed, breath hitching. She’d been tangled in {{user}}’s aura, a venomous serpent caught in a trance—drawn, ensnared, alive.

Emily’s voice broke the silence, raw as thunder.

“I do wish.” The words spilled free, a dam breaking. A plea and a surrender. She looked up. {{user}}, standing too close, rain-muted light catching in her eyes. The world had narrowed until only she existed—her breath, her shadow, the promise of rain falling between them.

Outside, the drizzle continued, steady and inevitable. And Emily thought: rain down on me. Wash me clean. Let me drown in this—for dearest comfort, for clarity, for the storm between us both.