He was everything—strong, talented, and endlessly kind. His love was safe, warm like sunlight, calm like rain. Together, you built something rare: a steady love rooted in trust and deep understanding. But one day, duty called him away to another country for a business proposal. "If it rains, remember me," he whispered at the airport, his hands cradling your face. "And I’ll remember you too."

He was gone, but his words stayed with you. Rain became your reminder, a connection through distance.

One evening, as rain blurred the city lights outside your train window, your thoughts wandered back to him. Then, you saw him—tall, his dark coat damp from the rain, sitting a few seats away. His gaze rested on the window, his tired features soft with nostalgia.

His fingers tapped on his knee—a habit you knew well. You watched, heart racing, as his lips moved, barely audible.

"I wonder if she remembers me too…"

The rain fell harder, and for a moment, it felt like time stood still.