Rain
Dane here.
My hands flew to my mouth.
For a second, the world blurred.
Oh God—finally. Finally.
My heart jumped so hard it hurt. I didn't even realize I was shaking until my thumb slipped over the keyboard.
I typed so fast the letters were a mess.
Where are you? I'm coming to get you right now. Have you lost your mind? Why didn't you tell me? I was worried sick. Are you okay?
I stared at the screen, waiting for the little typing bubble to appear—and before I could even breathe, his reply popped up.
Instantly.
So fast he must've been holding the phone, waiting.
You don't have to worry about me henceforth.
My breath caught halfway in my throat.
Henceforth?
Henceforth?
Who the hell talks like that?
What is this—what is he doing?
My fingers flew again.
I'm always going to worry about you, dummy. It's you.
Then everything went still.
A pause—three seconds, maybe four—but it stretched, warped, expanded until it felt like a lifetime pressing down on my chest.
I watched the screen like it could tell me the future.
My pulse was in my ears.
My whole body was leaning toward that one little rectangle of light.
And then—the typing bubble appeared.
Just once.
Just for a flicker.
Then disappeared.
Like he started to say something and decided not to.
Like he was pulling away in real time.
My heart dropped straight through me.
I stared at the message—at those four sentences—until the screen blurred.
I read it once.
Twice.
Ten times.
Every time felt different.
Every time hurt worse.
I won't be returning.
That one hit first—sharp, like someone punched the air out of my lungs.
Let's call it the end, Whatever this was.
That one spread slower, like poison slipping under the skin.
Whatever this was ? Did I mean nothing to him? All these years ?
Good luck.
That one felt cruel. Detached. Like I was a stranger he bumped into on the street.
Goodbye.
That one… I don't think my mind accepted it. Not then. Not even now.
I blinked, and somehow the words rearranged themselves into a different kind of pain each time—
And then—something worse than all of it.
Realization.
He chose to leave.
He chose not to tell me.
He chose to end us with a message from an unknown number.
My hands started shaking.
My throat closed up.
My chest tightened like someone had tied a rope around it and pulled hard.
Present
I choke on a sob. I swallow hard. My chest feels tight, like my lungs are folding in on themselves. I can't fall apart—not again. Not today. Not here.
My stomach twists violently, and I'm about to throw up when I hear Nat's voice cutting through the haze.
"Rain? Babe? You okay?"
I collapse, and she catches me effortlessly, guiding me to the counter, making me sip water in small, careful sips until the shaking starts to settle. Her hands are warm, grounding, but I can still feel the residual panic thrumming in my veins.
"You good now?" she whispers, concern etched in every syllable.
"Yeah… just dizzy," I lie, forcing a tight smile, though the red rim of my eyes and the stray strands of damp hair betray me.
I force myself up, shoulders stiff, and look in the mirror. My reflection is a cruel reminder—red‑shot eyes, messy hair, flushed skin. Humiliation coils in my stomach, and I hate myself for letting him have this power over me, even now.
He doesn't get to do this to me. Nobody does.
I straighten my back, adjust my clothes, and step out of the restroom with Nat following silently beside me.
"Babe, let's do dinner. You skipped lunch. I'll get you all the pasta you want," she says, her voice light but insistent, trying to anchor me back to normalcy.
"Not today, Nat. I'm busy tonight," I answer, keeping my voice clipped, careful.
"Busy? Doing what?" she asks, deadpan, though I know there's concern under it.
"Nothing. I'll see you tomorrow, okay? Bye."
Guilt twists in my chest. She was just trying to help. Just being the friend I've always leaned on . And I push her away.
I throw myself into work, burying myself in charts, notes, rounds—anything to block out the knot of dread in my stomach. The hours pass in a blur. By the time 6 p.m. rolls around, I've finished the ward rounds, completed the charts, and pushed through the fatigue, each task a tiny battle against the memories and the panic still lurking in the corners of my mind.
I finally step into my apartment—small, cozy, familiar—and it embraces me in the way only a space that's truly mine can. I don't want to leave it again tonight, don't want to face the world outside these walls, but I said I would. Somehow, I will. Somehow, I keep going.
A quick shower washes off the day, though not the thoughts that cling. I pull on a lace top and capri pants, run a hand over my damp hair, swipe on a bit of lip gloss. I catch my reflection one last time. The surface is composed, calm, almost like me—but inside, the storm still rages.
I roll my eyes at my own reflection, annoyed that my pulse is already picking up, annoyed that my hands won't stay still as I grab my keys.
I step outside into the chilly night. The wind hits my bare arms instantly, sharp and unwelcome. I should've brought a coat. I don't go back for it. Maybe I deserve to freeze a little for being this stupid.
The city hums quietly around me—traffic distant, streetlights casting long, trembling shadows. Each step feels heavier than the last, like my body is trying to warn me, pull me back, keep me safe.
But I keep walking.
The café comes into view, glowing warm from the inside—soft lights, golden windows, fogged glass. People laugh, talk, exist. The world seems gentle in there.
And then I see him.
Standing near the entrance.
Hands in his pockets.
Like he didn't disappear.
Like he didn't ruin me.
Like this is normal.
My heart stutters so violently I actually stop breathing for a second.
Oh god.
My stomach drops, my throat tightens, my skin prickles with heat despite the cold.
I straighten my shoulders, inhale once, and feel the heat rise—not from longing, but from fury.
He spots me instantly.
One step forward.
Barely.
"Rain… you came."
I stop a few feet away.
"You said to meet. I'm here."
His jaw tenses. His eyes search mine for something—anything.
I give him nothing.
"Shall we ?"
His breath stutters, so quiet I almost miss it.
I turn toward the table without waiting for his answer.