Rain began to fall just as Elena reached the edge of the town square.
It started as a sprinkle, then thickened into a steady rhythm—soft, but unrelenting.
She didn't rush home.
Instead, she ducked under the awning of the book café, watching people scurry by.
She liked the way the rain made everything quieter, slower.
Even her thoughts.
Back at Bellamy's, thunder rumbled low in the distance.
Marco wiped down the counter for the third time.
Talia leaned in the doorway, arms crossed, watching him.
"She'll come back," she said.
"I know," he replied.
"You don't sound sure."
"I'm not sure about anything right now."
Talia sighed.
"You're going to meet Mila tomorrow, aren't you?"
He nodded.
Talia stepped closer.
"Just promise me something."
Marco looked up.
"Don't lie to her. Not even a little."
"I won't," he said.
And he meant it.
Elena finally returned, hair damp, cheeks flushed.
She looked calmer, though. Different.
Marco met her at the door.
"Hey."
"Hey," she said softly.
"Can we talk?"
He led her inside.
Talia stayed back, giving them space.
"I get it," Elena started.
"You have history.
She was a part of your life."
"She was," Marco said.
"But she's not anymore."
"Then be clear with her," Elena said.
"Because I'm not getting caught in someone else's unfinished story."
He stepped closer.
"You're not a side character, Elena."
Her breath caught at the way he said her name.
Soft. Like a promise.
Talia joined them, towel in hand, and tossed it at Elena with a smirk.
"You're wet."
"Thanks for noticing," Elena replied, laughing.
The three stood in the small, warm space—storm outside, tension inside.
But also something else.
Trust.Tentative, yes.But growing.
Outside, the storm cracked louder.
Inside, hearts began to open.