He stayed there. Right in the open. Rain pounding like it had a personal grudge. Like the whole damn sky decided to pick him as its punching bag. And he let it. Let it rage. Let it slap his face, sting his skin—like that'd somehow even the score. As if the universe could beat him worse than he already did to himself.
Water pooled at his sandals, soaking through everything. The forest didn't move. Not a branch, not a leaf. Just watched, real still, like even nature knew better than to interrupt a man losing his last thread. Not tonight.
His fists unclenched—wetness clinging like guilt that just wouldn't wash off. His jaw locked. Eyes glassy, staring at nothing and everything. That look on his face? Calm. But the kind of calm that makes people take a step back. The kind that says, "I've smiled through worse… and I'm smiling now."
