It was raining again.
The kind of rain that tapped softly on windows and made the whole world feel like it had lowered its voice. The kind of rain that made you want to stay inside, wrapped in something warm, surrounded by something you trusted.
Nayla had invited Raka over without hesitation this time.
Not with a nervous pause or a careful "if you're free," but with something simpler:
"Bring a hoodie. It's soup weather."
He showed up with a black hoodie, a bag of chips he claimed paired well with anything, and that lopsided grin that always managed to tug her defenses down.
Inside her apartment, everything felt easy.
There was a pot of soup simmering on the stove, music playing low from her speaker, and a candle flickering on the shelf that smelled vaguely of cinnamon and vanilla.
He stood in her kitchen, watching her stir the pot with sleeves pushed up to her elbows. "You're dangerously close to domestic goddess territory," he teased.
She snorted. "Don't get used to this. This is a one-time rainy day miracle."
He leaned against the counter. "You mean to tell me I didn't unlock this side of you permanently?"
"You unlocked the 'let's not eat instant noodles again' side," she said, handing him a spoon.
He tasted the broth and gave an exaggerated sigh. "Okay, marriage material."
She rolled her eyes, but her smile gave her away.
Dinner was eaten cross-legged on the floor, with the sound of rain soft against the windows. He told her about a weird dream he'd had. She told him about a childhood memory she hadn't thought about in years, a time her dad taught her how to fix a squeaky cabinet door, and how proud she'd felt being "useful."
"You are useful," Raka said. "You just don't brag about it."
She shrugged. "Sometimes it's easier not to be seen."
He gave her a look. "I see you, Nayla. Even when you hide."
They didn't kiss. They didn't hold hands. They just sat side by side, leaning against the couch. His shoulder brushed hers. Her head rested against it after a while. And when her eyes fluttered shut, he didn't move away.
It was the kind of quiet that didn't demand attention.
The kind of closeness that didn't need permission.
Later, as he got up to leave, she walked him to the door like always. But this time, she didn't stop just inside.
She followed him out into the hallway, barefoot, hoodie sleeves too long. The rain still tapped against the windows.
He turned to say goodbye, but she beat him to it.
"Stay."
His brows lifted slightly. "Are you sure?"
She nodded.
He stepped back inside.
She closed the door behind him, not with hesitation, but with something like peace.
For the first time in a long while, she realized this didn't feel scary. It felt safe. It felt steady.
It felt a little like home.