Where the Rain Falls

The rain had not started yet.  

Damian stood beneath the overhang outside the café, hands deep in his coat pockets, watching through the window as Lila played. Her violin sang in quiet conversation with the piano—another musician, someone unfamiliar, fingers dancing over the keys as if they had always belonged there.  

The warmth inside contrasted sharply with the chill clinging to his skin. Inside, everything was golden, the café alive with murmurs, laughter, and the soft clatter of ceramic cups against wooden tables. Outside, the world braced itself for the coming storm.  

It had been months since that night—the night he had picked up the guitar again, the night music had returned. But time had a way of distorting moments, stretching them thin until they were no longer what they had been.  

They had played together after that night. Song after song, their melodies threading through late hours like whispered apologies neither of them knew how to speak aloud. The weight of the past had lingered, pressing into every silence, but they had ignored it, hoping, perhaps, that music alone could mend what had been broken.  

But seasons must change.  

And now—she was playing with someone else.  

Damian had not expected this moment to sting the way it did. It was not anger, nor jealousy, but something quieter. An understanding.  

A gust of wind swept through the streets, carrying with it the scent of rain. He should leave.  

Instead, he stepped inside.  

***  

The café felt different than it had before. Or maybe *he* was the one who had changed.  

Conversations drifted around him, voices rising and falling like the tide. The scent of cinnamon and espresso still lingered, but it no longer wrapped around him with the same comfort.  

Lila’s eyes lifted as he approached. The song did not falter, but something shifted in her expression—just for a moment, a flicker of something he could not name before her gaze returned to the strings.  

She did not stop playing.  

Damian did not sit.  

He stood at the edge of the music, letting it flow around him, through him. The pianist played effortlessly, his hands moving with a familiarity that made Damian ache in a way he did not expect.  

Not because Lila had moved on.  

But because she *had been ready to*, even when he was not.  

When the song ended, the café erupted into polite applause. The pianist turned toward Lila with an easy smile, murmuring something that made her laugh—soft and genuine. A sound Damian had once held in his hands like something fragile.  

Her eyes met his again. This time, she spoke first.  

“You came.”  

“You’re playing again.”  

Something unreadable passed over her face, and for the first time, Damian wondered if she had been waiting for him to say something else.  

He could not find the words.  

Lila stood, tucking the violin beneath her arm. “Walk with me?”  

***  

They left the café in silence.  

The rain had not yet begun, but the air was thick with it, the promise of a storm hanging heavy between them.  

“I didn’t know if you’d come,” Lila said finally.  

Damian exhaled, watching his breath curl into the night. “I almost didn’t.”  

She nodded as if she had expected that answer. They passed the lake, the water still as glass, reflecting the deep indigo of the sky.  

“You sounded good tonight,” he said after a moment.  

“Thanks,” she murmured, shifting the violin case to her other hand.  

Silence stretched between them again, but this time, it was weightier, as if they were both searching for the right words and failing to find them.  

Damian hesitated before speaking again. “That pianist… He’s good.”  

Lila glanced at him, as if gauging the intent behind his words. “Yeah. He is.”  

Something in her tone made him pause. She wasn’t defensive. She wasn’t even uncertain. There was only quiet acceptance in her voice, and suddenly, Damian realized—  

She wasn’t waiting for him anymore.  

Not to play. Not to fix things.  

Not to love her the way she once loved him.  

“This was never going to last, was it?” he asked.  

Lila stopped walking. “What do you mean?”  

He turned to face her. “Us. The music. This…” He gestured between them, at the space that had always existed even when they were close. “It’s like trying to hold onto a season—thinking you can stop it from changing.”  

She did not answer right away. When she finally spoke, her voice was quiet. “I wanted to believe we could.”  

So had he.  

But something about tonight—about the way she played, the way she laughed, the way she walked beside him without expectation—made him understand.  

They had been searching for a way back to something that no longer existed.  

A cool breeze stirred through the trees. The first drops of rain touched his skin, light and fleeting, before disappearing.  

Lila lifted her face to the sky, eyes closed, waiting. The rain came slowly at first, cool against his skin, then heavier, soaking through fabric, settling into the earth like something inevitable.  

Damian watched as she stood there, arms loose at her sides, shoulders relaxed. She was letting the storm take her, letting it wash over her like something cleansing.  

And Damian saw it then—what he had been blind to before.  

She was already gone.  

Not in the way he had feared. Not in the way she had once left.  

She had simply moved forward.  

And now—so would he.  

The storm fell around them, steady, cleansing. Damian felt something loosen in his chest, something he had been carrying for too long.  

Lila took a step back. Just slightly. Just enough.  

Her voice was barely above the rain. “Take care of yourself, Damian.”  

He gave her a small, almost imperceptible nod.  

She lingered for a second longer, her eyes searching his, as if making sure he understood. And then, with the storm between them, she turned and walked away.  

***  

Damian remained standing in the rain long after she had disappeared into the night.  

The weight in his chest had not disappeared entirely, but it was different now—lighter, no longer pressing so hard against his ribs.  

For the first time, he did not try to chase the past.  

For the first time, he let it go.  

And where the rain fell, something new would grow.