It rained again the following night.
The kind of rain that didn't just fall it whispered. It slid down windows like secrets. It made the city glow under dim streetlamps and wrapped everything in a quiet kind of stillness.
Nayla stood by her window, holding a mug of tea she hadn't sipped yet. Her apartment was dim, lit only by the soft glow of a desk lamp and the occasional flash of lightning in the distance.
She hadn't seen Raka since the argument.
They had texted, carefully, choosing their words with extra care, like trying not to reopen a wound still healing.
She hated that. Not the care, but the distance.
She hated even more how easily she'd hurt him with words that weren't fair.
And yet… he hadn't pulled away.
She turned away from the window, grabbed her phone, and stared at it.
She could wait for him.
Or she could go to him.
She chose the latter.
—
Raka opened the door with a look of quiet surprise. He wasn't wearing his usual hoodie. Just a plain black T-shirt and sweatpants. He looked tired. But warm.
"Hey," he said.
"Hi," she replied, a little breathless from the rain.
He stepped aside silently, letting her in.
The apartment was quiet, lit only by a few small lamps. It smelled like lemon-scented cleaner and something vaguely burnt. A failed dinner, maybe.
"I brought peace offerings," Nayla said, holding up a bag. Frozen waffles. And syrup."
His mouth twitched into a half-smile. "You always know how to win me over."
She slipped off her jacket, sat down on the couch, and let the silence stretch for a moment before she spoke.
"I was wrong," she said softly. "About what I said that night."
Raka sat beside her but didn't speak.
She continued, "You were being honest with me. And I made it about control instead of care."
He finally looked at her. "I didn't want to accuse you. I just… needed to know where I stood."
"I know," she whispered. "And I panicked. I've never had someone who doesn't run when I push back."
He sighed. "I almost did."
She swallowed. "But you didn't."
"No," he said. "Because I know who you are, Nayla. I've seen more of you than most people ever will. And I'm still here. Not because I'm blind but because I choose to be."
She looked at him then. Eyes wide. Vulnerable. Real.
"I'm scared all the time," she admitted. "Of losing things before they even begin."
"You're not losing me," he said, voice steady.
A beat passed.
Then she leaned against him, resting her head on his shoulder. He reached for her hand and squeezed.
They didn't need more words.
The rain tapped softly against the windows again, almost like applause.
And in that small room, two flawed, careful people sat together, holding on not just to each other, but to the fragile, honest thing they were building.
Something that was no longer just a beginning.
But a choice.