It rained again that night.
Aria stood under the awning outside the bookstore, watching water sheet down from the sky
like the world was trying to wash itself clean. She was early—twenty minutes early—because
staying in her apartment had become impossible. The walls felt too close, her thoughts too
loud.
She'd spent the entire day distracted. Made errors in calculations that Marcus had to correct.
Spaced out during a client meeting. Checked her phone every five minutes even though
Ethan hadn't texted.
This was dangerous. This feeling. This pull toward someone she barely knew.
But when she saw him walking toward her through the rain, umbrella-less and soaked, hair
plastered to his forehead and an apologetic smile on his face, all her careful reasoning
dissolved.
"Sorry," he said, slightly breathless. "Lost track of time. Was out shooting and the weather
turned."
"You're drenched," Aria said, fighting the urge to reach out and brush the water from his face.
"Yeah." He looked down at himself, at his soaked jacket and jeans. "Hazard of the job."
"What were you photographing?"
"Nothing important. Just... the city. The rain. I don't know. Sometimes I need to shoot for
myself, not for a paycheck." He paused. "Want to see?"
He pulled out his camera, and Aria stepped closer, their shoulders touching as they huddled
under the awning. Ethan scrolled through the images on the small screen, and Aria felt her
breath catch.
The photographs were stunning. Not the polished, corporate images she'd expected, but raw,
emotional captures of the city in rain. A woman waiting at a bus stop, her expression distant
and sad. Puddles reflecting streetlights like fallen stars. A child's abandoned toy on a park
bench, slowly drowning.
"These are beautiful," she whispered.
"They're sad," Ethan corrected.
"Can't something be both?"
He looked at her then, really looked at her, and something passed between them. An
understanding. A recognition.
"Yeah," he said softly. "I guess it can."
They went to the diner again. It was becoming their place, this bright, ordinary space that
somehow felt sacred. Their booth. Their terrible coffee. Their refuge from the world.
Aria ordered soup this time, suddenly ravenous. Ethan got a burger he barely touched. They
settled into their seats with the ease of people who'd been doing this for years instead of days.
"Tell me something you've never told anyone," Ethan said suddenly.
Aria's spoon paused halfway to her mouth. "What?"
"A secret. Something true. I want to know you." He leaned forward, elbows on the table.
"Really know you."
The request should have felt invasive. Instead, it felt intimate. Like he was asking permission
to see the parts of her she kept hidden.
Aria set down her spoon. Thought for a long moment.
"I'm angry," she said finally. "At Lily. For dying. For leaving me. For being in that car on that
road at that exact moment. It's irrational and terrible and I hate myself for feeling it, but I'm so
angry at her I can barely breathe sometimes."
The confession hung in the air between them, ugly and honest.
"That's not terrible," Ethan said gently. "That's human."
"I've never said it out loud before. Never admitted it. Everyone expects me to just miss her, to
be sad. But anger? That feels like a betrayal."
"It's not." He reached across the table, found her hand. It was becoming natural, this touching.
This connection. "Grief isn't clean or simple. It's messy and contradictory and sometimes it
makes you feel things that don't make sense."
Aria blinked back tears. "Your turn. Tell me something you've never told anyone."
Ethan was quiet for a long time. His thumb traced patterns on her palm, absent and soothing.
"The night Sarah left," he began, voice low, "I called her seventeen times. Begged her to
come back. Promised I'd change, that I'd be better, that I'd do whatever it took." He paused.
"And when she didn't answer, I got in my car and drove to her new apartment. Sat outside for
hours. Just... waiting. Hoping she'd come out. That I'd know what to say."
"Did she?"
"No. But her boyfriend did. The guy she'd been seeing for months while I was too busy with
work to notice. He saw me sitting there like a stalker and called the cops." Ethan laughed
bitterly. "They didn't arrest me. Just told me to go home. Which was worse, somehow. Like
even the police pitied me."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be. I deserved it. I destroyed the best thing in my life because I was too proud to admit I
needed help. Too stubborn to see what I was doing." He met her eyes. "That's my secret. I'm
not the victim in my story. I'm the villain."
"You're not a villain," Aria said firmly. "You're just someone who made mistakes. We all do."
"Some mistakes you don't get to come back from."
"Maybe. Or maybe you just haven't forgiven yourself yet."
The words landed between them, heavy with meaning.
They talked for hours. About regret and redemption. About whether people could truly change
or if we're all just destined to repeat our patterns. About second chances and whether they
meant anything if you were still the same person who destroyed the first chance.
Somewhere around 3 AM, the conversation shifted. Became lighter. Ethan told her about his
childhood in a small town upstate, about learning photography from his grandfather, about the
first time he realized he could capture emotion in a single frame.
Aria talked about growing up with Lily, about their elaborate games of make-believe, about
how Lily was always the brave one while Aria watched from the sidelines.
"You're braver than you think," Ethan said.
"How do you figure?"
"You're here. After everything you've lost, you're still showing up. Still trying. That takes
courage."
"Or stupidity."
"Sometimes they're the same thing."
When they finally left the diner, the rain had stopped but the streets were still wet, reflecting
the city lights in fractured patterns. They walked slowly, neither ready to go home.
"Can I walk you back?" Ethan asked.
"It's out of your way."
"I don't care."
They walked through the quiet streets, their footsteps echoing in the emptiness. Every block
felt too short. Every corner brought them closer to goodbye.
When they reached Aria's building, they stood on the sidewalk, suddenly awkward.
"Thank you," Aria said. "For tonight. For listening. For... everything."
"Thank you for trusting me."
They stood there, caught in that terrible space between wanting and fear. Aria could feel her
heartbeat in her throat. Could see the same war playing out on Ethan's face.
Kiss me, she thought. Don't kiss me. Kiss me.
But Ethan didn't move. Didn't close the distance. He just looked at her with those wounded,
beautiful eyes and said:
"Tomorrow?"
And Aria knew what he was really asking. Could we do this every day? Could we keep falling
toward each other even though we both know how badly falling hurts?
"Tomorrow," she agreed.
She turned to go inside, but his voice stopped her.
"Aria?"
She looked back.
"I'm glad we're drowning less."
A smile broke across her face, unexpected and genuine. "Me too."
She went inside, climbed the stairs to her apartment, and stood at her window watching as
Ethan walked away into the night.
And for the first time in three years, Aria went to bed and didn't dream of Lily dying.
She dreamed of possibility. Of maybe. Of a man with sad eyes who understood her in ways
she'd thought impossible.
It terrified her.
And she couldn't wait for tomorrow.