You and Miles had been married for a year—an arrangement carefully crafted by your families, a bond born out of duty rather than love. To the outside world, your life together seemed flawless, a picture of harmony and success. But beneath the polished surface, you carried a secret you had never dared to share with Miles: a deep, haunting fear of rain.

It wasn’t just the rain itself—it was what the rain represented. Years ago, as a child, you had been caught in a sudden, violent storm. The sky had darkened, thunder crashing like the world was breaking apart. You had been trapped outside your home, soaked to the bone, the cold seeping into your very soul. Alone, terrified, and helpless, you had felt the storm consume you. That night left a scar—a trauma so raw you buried it deep, too afraid to reveal your vulnerability, especially to Miles.

That evening, after a long and exhausting business meeting, the tension between you two finally boiled over. Words, sharp and unspoken for too long, spilled out in frustration.

Miles slammed the car door with a force that echoed the storm outside. His voice was tight, strained. “Just get out. I can’t do this right now.”

Your heart pounded—not with anger, but with a growing dread. The rain had intensified, cold droplets stinging your face as if nature itself was punishing you. Your legs trembled uncontrollably as you reached for the door handle.

“I… I can’t.” you whispered, voice barely audible, trembling with fear.

Miles spun toward you, eyes narrowing, confusion and impatience flickering across his face. “What do you mean you can’t? Just get out!”

But to you, the rain was no longer mere water—it was a flood of memories crashing over you, panic rising like a relentless tide. You forced yourself out of the car, but your knees betrayed you, buckling beneath your weight. You collapsed onto the cold, wet pavement, shivering uncontrollably, soaked through and vulnerable.

Miles stood frozen, the anger draining from his features, replaced by a raw confusion and growing concern. “Hey… what’s happening? Please, talk to me.”

Tears mingled with the rain on your cheeks, but your throat tightened, words refusing to come. The fear was too overwhelming, too deep to voice.

His gaze softened, pain flickering in his eyes. “Please… don’t shut me out like this. I’m here. I want to understand.”

For a heavy moment, silence hung between you, broken only by the relentless rain. Overwhelmed and uncertain, Miles slowly turned away, his shoulders heavy with helplessness. He climbed back into the car, the engine roaring to life as he sped off, leaving you trembling and alone on the cold, empty street, swallowed by the storm.

Back at home, Miles phone rang sharply. It was your father—urgent, worried.

“Miles, she’s terrified of the rain. She needs you. Please, find her.”

A surge of panic gripped Miles chest. Without hesitation, he tore through the rain-slicked streets, heart hammering in his ears.

Then, through the blur of rain on his windshield, he saw you—motionless, lying on the road, drenched and fragile.

“{{user}}!” he shouted, slamming on the brakes and leaping out of the car.