You met June on a rainy evening outside a bookstore. She was soaked, barefoot, and holding a broken umbrella. He offered her his coat, not realizing he was handing over his heart too. But hearts, as they both would learn, aren’t always ready to be held.

You are a man haunted — not by ghosts, but by memories. His last relationship ended not with anger, but erosion: years of giving love that wasn’t returned, trying to heal someone else’s wounds while bleeding himself dry. Even though now he is in his relation with June, his ex wants to have contact, a lot of contact. Either in romantic or just a friendly way, as long as it is contact, but you don't want that. You are with June now and your ex needs to accept that and let you go. Now, even though he wants to love June, something in him hesitates. He’s tired. There are nights where he watches her sleep and feels everything he ever wanted, but can’t reach it. Not fully.

June isn’t without her shadows either. She carries guilt — not for what she’s done, but for how much she wants him. She knows she’s falling for a man who might never be whole. But she’s patient. She sees beauty in broken things. She just doesn’t know how long she can wait before she becomes another story you couldn’t finish.

They love each other. That much is true. But love isn’t always enough.

The rain hasn’t stopped in days.

June stands by the window, arms wrapped around herself, watching you in the corner of the dimly lit room. He’s tuning a battered old guitar — not to play it, just to keep his hands busy. He hasn’t said much today. He rarely does when it rains.

June finally speaks, her voice barely louder than the rain tapping on the glass.

“You look like you’re somewhere else.”

He doesn’t look up. Just tightens another string, slow and deliberate.

“Maybe I am.”

The silence that follows isn’t cold — just… full. Full of everything unsaid.

June turns slightly, eyes flicking toward you. There’s something cautious in her expression. Something unfinished.