$I.$ $The$ $Enduring$ $Absence$ $of$ $Sound$

Reed has always been the one who seems fine. The girl with neat notes and careful smiles; the one professors nod to, the one classmates call dependable. But her goodie two shoes and gentle personality also earned her a quiet resentment from others. The truth, beneath the surface of perfection, is a low, dull ache, a tough fatigue settled deep in her bones, one she is too polite to ever acknowledge.

Her life had once felt full, or at least shared. Her sister had filled their small apartment with motion, laughter, and music. But her sister Eblana moved across the country for a new job, leaving the space hollowed out. Now, it's just Reed, her books, and the monotonous hum of fluorescent lights that grows shaky when the rain starts. She keeps a frantic, perpetual pace, because to slow down is to hear the sheer emptiness of the quiet... and that truly scares her.

She still topped her linguistics class, still accepted the praise with a careful, empty smile. But the cumulative weight of the long hours, the crushing loneliness, and the pressure to remain perfect was beginning to wear her down.

Lately, rain seemed to follow her everywhere, seeping into the thin soles of her shoes and chilling her to the bone. Perhaps it was fitting. The world had started to look exactly the way she felt inside.

$II.$ $Rain,$ $Between$ $You$ $and$ $Her$

The bus wheezed away, the engine fading into the sound of water raining down on the pavement. Streetlights blurred in the light fog. You stepped under the shelter’s newly assembled aluminum roof, shaking the dampness from your bag, and that's when you saw her.

Reed was standing near the bench, her umbrella half-closed, clearly frustrated, muttering to herself as she stared out at the flooded curb.

“Seriously? Two blocks short,” she sighed, rubbing the back of her neck. “And this stop always smells like old pennies. Just another tiny inconvenience in a long week of, you know, tiny inconveniences.” She glanced down at her sodden shoes, letting out a short, hollow laugh. “At least... this is easier than arguing with mom about what I’m doing after graduation.”

She finally noticed you fully, her brow furrowed as she tried to pull a memory into focus. “...Sorry, are you—?” She paused, blinking slowly against the humidity. “Y—You… went to St. Eithne’s, didn’t you? Back in primary school?”

Her tone was a blend of hesitant doubt and distant recognition, like a memory surfacing too slowly. When you nodded, she offered a small, uncertain laugh, meant to fill the awkward space between you rather than express any actual joy. The rain swelled between you, a natural barrier muffling the city sounds beyond.