The Tempest Within

The first raindrop fell the moment Liora stepped off the train, landing cold against the back of her hand like a warning. 

She curled her fingers into a fist, stuffing it into her coat pocket as the sky churned, thick with the promise of a storm. It figured—the one day she returned home after five years, the heavens decided to weep. Not that she blamed them. If she had any say in it, she wouldn’t be here either. 

The town was exactly as she left it—too small, too quiet, the air thick with unsaid things. Storefronts with fogged-up windows, streets lined with naked trees swaying under a restless wind. The scent of damp earth and old regrets clung to everything. 

She adjusted the strap of her bag and started walking. Her mother’s house loomed at the end of the street, dark and still. A hollow thing. She hadn’t stepped foot inside since the funeral, since the argument, since she swore she’d never return. But death had a way of yanking people back, even when they weren’t ready. 

Thunder rumbled as she reached the door. 

“Of course,” she muttered. 

She hesitated, hand hovering over the handle. The air felt charged, thick with anticipation. Her father’s death had been sudden, a heart attack in his sleep. She should have felt… something. But all she had was a hollow ache and a storm at her back, whispering, You’re too late. 

Inside, the house smelled like dust and memories. Shadows stretched long in the dim light. A framed photo of her parents sat crooked on the mantel. Her mother had called last week, voice thin, saying only, It’s time to come home. 

Lightning flashed. 

The storm was rising. 

A letter sat on the kitchen table. Her name, scrawled in her father’s handwriting. 

Her breath caught. 

The air shifted—cold, biting. The windows rattled. 

Hands trembling, she unfolded the paper. 

Liora, 

I know you hate me for what I said. I know I failed you. But there are things you don’t understand, things I should have told you long ago. I only hope you can forgive me in time. 

Your mother knows where to find the rest. 

I love you. 

The ink smudged where the last word had been written, as if he had hesitated. As if he had wanted to write more but hadn’t known how. 

A gust of wind slammed against the house. The lights flickered. 

Liora swallowed hard. 

She had spent years carrying the weight of their last conversation—his anger, her sharp words, the slamming door. And now? Now he was gone, and she was left with a storm inside her chest and a letter that made her question everything. 

She should leave. The house, the letter, the ghosts clinging to the walls. 

Instead, she found herself pacing, the wind howling outside as if demanding she make a choice. The storm had always followed her emotions. Ever since she was a child, it was there—pouring when she cried, calming when she laughed. Her father used to call it a gift. But she had learned to see it as a curse. 

And now, with grief pressing against her ribs, the tempest outside mirrored the one inside. 

Her mother’s voice cut through the silence. 

“You always did bring the storms with you.” 

Liora turned. Her mother stood in the doorway, small and tired, eyes dark with things unsaid. 

Thunder cracked overhead. 

Her mother sat across from her at the kitchen table, hands wrapped around a mug of tea, gaze distant. 

“There’s more,” she said finally. 

Liora’s pulse quickened. “More what?” 

A long pause. Then, her mother reached into the drawer and pulled out another letter, sealed in an envelope so old the edges were yellowed. 

“Your father kept secrets,” she said. “About you. About why the storms follow you.” 

Lightning split the sky. 

Liora’s fingers tightened around the envelope. 

The more she read, the worse the weather became. 

Her father’s words painted a picture of things she had never questioned before—why the storms responded to her, why he had always been so wary of her anger. He had known something she hadn’t. That her ability wasn’t just some anomaly. It was inherited. 

The house groaned against the force of the wind. 

He had wanted to protect her. He had also been afraid of her. 

And that hurt worse than anything. 

The moment she understood the truth, the sky broke open. 

Rain lashed against the windows. A tree branch snapped outside. 

She stood in the center of the room, breathing hard. 

He had been afraid of her. 

Had she ever been afraid of herself? 

The guilt came next, rolling in heavier than the thunder. If she had stayed, would things have been different? Had her father really wanted to tell her, or was this just another loose thread in a story she would never fully understand? 

The letter had no answers—just more questions. 

The wind screamed against the house. 

Her mother flinched. “Liora, you need to calm down.” 

She wished she could. 

The answer wasn’t in the letters. It wasn’t in the past. 

It was in her. 

Her father had been wrong about a lot of things, but he had been right about one: she wasn’t cursed. She wasn’t a danger. 

She was herself. 

And for the first time in her life, she wasn’t afraid of what that meant. 

Slowly, she stepped outside. 

The rain was still falling, but softer now, as if waiting. 

She tilted her face toward the sky and exhaled. 

The storm eased. 

Not gone. Not yet. But quieter. 

And maybe, just maybe, so was she.

For the first time, she didn't resist the storm, didn't fight it back or try to suppress it. Instead, she let it move through her. The grief, the guilt, the longing—she let them rise and fall like the wind. She had spent years fearing what she couldn't control, when maybe, all along, it had been waiting for her to listen.

She reached out a hand, palm up and the rain slowed to a mist, swirling at her fingertips. The storm hadn't come to punish her, but to guide her.

Her mother stepped onto the porch, her eyes softening as they met Liora's. A slow, gentle smile curved her lips, and she leaned forward just a a fraction—an unspoken reassurance that said. "I know."

"You're not your father, Liora," she said softly. "And you never were."

Liora's chest ached, but it was different now—lighter. She nodded once, letting the words settle, letting the truth finally take root.

As Liora walked away from the house, the clouds thinned, a sliver of sunlight breaking through. 

She had come home in a storm. 

She was leaving in the calm. 

And for the first time in a long time, she wasn’t running from it. 

She was walking forward—rain at her back, future ahead.