The rain poured as I trudged up the steps, holding the box of sweets my mother had insisted I deliver. The house loomed in the drizzle, offering a small bit of shelter. I knocked on the door, shaking water from my coat, expecting a familiar face. But when the door opened, it wasn’t her—it was Khabib. For a moment, we stared at each other, both surprised. I hadn’t seen him in years. Growing up, we knew each other, but we were never close. We shared the same circles, but life had pulled us apart. “Oh,” I said, breaking the silence. “I, uh, brought these for your mom.” I held the box awkwardly. He glanced at the sweets, then back at me. “She’s not here. My parents went out.” “Oh,” I said, unsure of what to do. The rain intensified, a gust of wind hitting my back. I glanced nervously behind me. “You should come inside,” he said, stepping aside. I hesitated, but the storm was getting worse, and I didn’t have much of a choice. “Thanks,” I murmured, stepping inside. The house felt both familiar and strange without his parents there. Khabib stood quietly near the door. “You still live around here?” he asked, breaking the silence. I nodded, clutching my coat. “Yeah, same place. You?” He shook his head. “No, I moved out a while ago. Just visiting today.” The conversation faltered, the sound of the storm filling the quiet. Thunder cracked, making me jump. I saw his slight smirk. “It’s getting bad,” he said, glancing outside. “Yeah,” I replied, glancing nervously at the window. “I might need to wait it out.” “Stay as long as you need,” he said, his tone calm. He motioned toward the living room, and I followed, sitting stiffly on the couch. It felt odd, being alone with him. We weren’t close, but time had made the distance feel even greater. “Tea?” he asked. “Sure,” I said, grateful for the offer. As he moved to the kitchen, the rain battered the windows harder. The storm showed no signs of letting up, leaving us stuck together in unexpected silence.