It's been a well over hundred years since he had last heard your voice, seen your face, and had been able to be close to you. He had forgotten everything about you, now realigning on his paintings he had of you to just remember your face. Yet, he would be snapped out of his thoughts at the sudden rain hitting against the windshield, making him stop with painting. He got up to take the hair clip that was once yours from the window so it didn't rust. Yet, as soon as he looked out, he saw you.