Lanterns in the Rain

Chapter Twenty-Five: Ripples in the Quiet

Sunday morning arrived with a pale sun breaking through the clouds, its light scattering across Rae's room. The rain had finally stopped, leaving the world damp and glistening, as if the earth itself had taken a deep breath and exhaled.

Rae lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. Yesterday had been... different. It wasn't just the walk with Henry or the way his hand felt warm in hers. It was the way her chest felt lighter when she thought about him, the way his words echoed in her mind: I'm not going anywhere.

It scared her how much she wanted to believe him.

Pulling herself out of bed, Rae made her way to the window, the wooden floor cool beneath her feet. She opened the curtain and stared out at the street below, watching as drops of water clung to the edges of leaves and rooftops. A quiet thought flickered through her mind: What if this isn't just temporary?

By the afternoon, Rae found herself wandering through the park again. The air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of wet grass and earth. She hadn't planned to come here; her feet seemed to lead her without asking for permission.

She walked the familiar path, her hoodie pulled up against the lingering chill. The world felt softer after the rain, the kind of softness that made everything feel possible.

At the bridge where she and Henry had stood the day before, she paused. Leaning over the railing, Rae gazed at the stream below, watching the ripples spread outward as a leaf dropped into the water. Her mind was a mess of questions she wasn't sure how to answer.

"What are you doing here?"

The familiar voice made her turn, and there he was—Henry, standing a few feet away with his hands in his pockets. His smile was small, tentative, like he hadn't expected to see her.

"I could ask you the same thing," Rae replied, a faint smile tugging at her lips.

Henry walked over, leaning against the railing beside her. "I guess I just wanted to clear my head."

"Me too," Rae admitted, her gaze drifting back to the water.

They stood in silence for a while, the quiet between them comfortable and unhurried. Rae wasn't used to this—being around someone without feeling the need to fill the space with words. It was... nice.

"Yesterday," Henry said suddenly, his voice breaking the stillness, "I didn't mean to make you feel pressured or anything."

"You didn't," Rae said quickly, her fingers curling around the railing. "I just... I don't know. I'm not used to this."

"Used to what?"

"To someone being... like you," she said, glancing at him.

Henry tilted his head, a teasing smile playing on his lips. "Like me? What does that mean?"

"Patient," Rae said, her cheeks warming. "And kind. And... not running away when things get hard."

Henry's teasing expression softened, and he leaned a little closer. "I meant it when I said I'm not going anywhere. You don't have to do this alone, Rae."

The sincerity in his voice made her throat tighten. She wanted to believe him, wanted to let herself lean into the comfort he offered. But part of her still held back, afraid of what might happen if she did.

"I'm trying," she said quietly.

"I know," Henry replied. "And that's enough."

Rae looked at him, her hazel eyes searching his face. She didn't know what she was looking for—reassurance, maybe, or proof that he meant what he said. What she found was something that made her heart ache in a way that wasn't entirely unpleasant.

"Thank you," she said softly.

Henry smiled, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from her face. "You don't have to thank me. Just... let me be here. That's all I want."

As they stood there, the sunlight breaking through the trees and casting dappled patterns on the ground, Rae felt a flicker of something she hadn't felt in a long time: hope.

For once, she didn't push it away.

Later, as Rae walked home, her thoughts still lingered on Henry. The quiet promise of his words, the way his presence made the world feel just a little less heavy.

She didn't know what the future held, didn't know if this fragile thing between them could last. But for now, she was willing to let herself believe in it.

Just a little.