It rained that night. A slow, lingering rain that blurred the city lights and made everything feel softer, quieter—like the world was trying to hush itself.
Oryn didn't go home right away.
He walked.
Through streets he knew too well, past places that meant nothing and places that meant too much. He didn't have a destination, but maybe that was the point.
Maybe he was looking for something that wasn't there anymore.
The words from the barista echoed in his mind.
"She looked like she wanted to."
What had she wanted to say?
He thought about the book in her hands, the way she must have held it before walking out of the café, making the choice he hadn't been able to.
She had taken it.
She had left.
And yet, it didn't feel like an ending.
A name he didn't know. A voice he had never heard. A girl who had answered him when no one else had.
He had lost her before he ever really had her.
The thought sat heavy in his chest as he turned onto a quieter street, where the rain tapped gently against the pavement, where the air felt cooler against his skin.
His fingers twitched toward his pocket, instinct pulling him toward a habit he didn't know how to break.
But there was nothing to write.
Not anymore.
Instead, he whispered something into the night, words lost to the rain before they could reach anyone.
Before they could reach her.