The rain had come suddenly, turning the dry land into a flood of muddy puddles and the air heavy with the smell of wet earth. I stood at the edge of the field, eyes lifted to the sky, feeling the cool drops against my skin. The storm had arrived with a ferocity I hadn’t expected, but something about it felt right, like nature was finally reclaiming what it had lost.

"Hey, you okay?" Atticus’s voice broke through the sound of the rain, a steady presence despite the wild weather. He stood next to me, his face illuminated by the flashing lightning above. His hand reached for mine without hesitation, warmth in the storm.

I nodded, not trusting my voice at first. "Yeah... just... it's perfect, isn't it?"

He chuckled, a soft sound that barely competed with the rain. "Perfect? It’s a mess. But I think I get what you mean." His thumb brushed lightly over my hand as we both stared up at the sky.

The wind howled around us, and for a moment, I felt like we were the only two people in the world. It was as if the storm was just a backdrop to something far more important—the quiet connection that hummed between us, simple but undeniable.

"You know," Atticus said, breaking the silence, "you always seem to find the beauty in things that others would call chaos." His voice held admiration, and I turned to face him, surprised by the sincerity in his words