Meleric Stories

It started with a storm. Not the one outside, though the thunder did shake the windows, but the kind that builds inside a heart when fear and silence collide. He comes soaked, frantic, aching with guilt. She shatters in his arms. In the quiet that followed, between whispered apologies and tear-soaked skin, something shifted. Something raw, unspoken, real. The kind of truth that couldn't be buried under fake smiles or half-meant words. And when morning came, with rain still clinging to the earth, they stood side by side, soaked in the storm, brave in the aftermath. This isn't just a story about rain. It's about what happens when the sky falls... and the right person stays.

Melissa O'Neil swore she'd never understand Eric Winter. Somehow, he managed to be both the most infuriating and magnetic person in the room, usually at the same time. He was always late to cast hangouts, always smirking when she complained about it, and always managing to end up right beside her for the rest of the night. It drove her crazy. Worse, everyone else thought it was funny. What they didn't see was how her pulse ticked faster when he leaned in too close, or how his stupid grin lingered inside her mind long after he dropped her home. She told herself she didn't care. She couldn't care. But lately, Melissa wondered if maybe she minded his absence more than his presence. And when Eric finally failed to show up one night, she realized just how much space he actually took up in her world.

The envelope sat on his kitchen counter like it owned the place. Cream cardstock, gold lettering, the kind of thing you only splurge on when you want everyone to know you're blissfully in love. Eric already knew whose names would be on it. Roselyn and John. He'd told himself the divorce was civil. Mature. A clean break. He'd ignored the whispers that his friend had been more than a friend before the papers were signed. He'd even wished them well from a safe, social media-approved distance. But this? An invitation to watch them exchange vows under fairy lights and peonies, to toast their happily-ever-after while pretending he wasn't the ghost in the room? That was a special kind of audacity. He should throw it away. Burn it. Shred it into a thousand smug little pieces. Instead, he poured himself a drink and stared at the RSVP card. Should he go? Just to prove he could. Just to smile and clap and show them he wasn't the least bit bothered. But go alone? Not a chance. If they wanted him there, he'd make sure they got a show they'd never forget.