Farewell on a Rainy Night of Spring — Minuano

The rain always made the city look softer — blurred lights, thin reflections, colors bleeding into one another like memories you weren’t ready to admit had died. You stood beneath the overhang of the train station, watching droplets fall off the edge in delicate chains. It should’ve been peaceful. It wasn’t. Karma stood a few steps away, hands shoved deep into his pockets, hair damp where the drizzle had caught him. You used to stand close enough to share warmth, breath, jokes, secrets. Now there was a distance between you that felt colder than the rain could ever be. Before either of you realized it, whatever you had had faded. Quietly. Gently. Like love washing off in the rain.

He glanced at you — the kind of look that used to mean trouble, mischief, promises. Tonight it meant something else. Something hollow, careful, almost regretful. His voice was low when he finally said, “We’re holding each other, but it feels like we’re not really here.” You didn’t look at him. You couldn’t. The truth was too sharp. He reached for your hand, fingers brushing yours, but even that touch felt like a ghost — cold, distant, an echo of something that used to be warm. The moment you leaned into him, searching for even a hint of the past, you realized you were embracing an empty shell. And so was he.

Your reflection shimmered faintly in a puddle at your feet — distorted, split, monochrome. A version of you that didn’t know where to go. A version of you that didn’t know how to come back. Karma exhaled softly, the sound almost lost in the rain. “Somewhere along the way… we stopped moving toward each other.” The city lights blurred even more, streaking across your vision. Maybe from the rain. Maybe not. You both stood there — two drifting shapes in a washed-out painting — knowing the truth but not daring to say it out loud. The train arrived with a slow mechanical sigh. A door opened. Karma didn’t step inside. He just watched you, eyes unreadable, almost soft.

If this was goodbye, no one said it. If this was the last moment, neither of you tried to hold on. The rain kept falling. The world stayed monochrome. And you felt yourself sinking — slowly — into a dream where you could become something lighter, something beautiful, something that didn’t ache whenever Karma looked at you like that. He blinked. You blinked. And the distance between you did not close.