The rain poured relentlessly, soaking the city streets in a rhythmic downpour. Raine had always loved the sound of rain, the way it softened the sharp edges of the world, making everything feel a little more distant, a little less urgent.
Her bookstore, tucked into the quieter part of town, had always felt like a refuge from the storm—both the kind outside and the ones people carried within them. That night was no different. The warm glow of the lamps illuminated the rows of books, the air rich with the scent of old pages and freshly brewed tea.
Raine sat behind the counter, flipping absentmindedly through a book, listening to the occasional rustle of pages as the few lingering customers browsed in silence. It was peaceful.
Then the bell above the door chimed.
A woman stepped inside, her presence like a ripple through still water. She moved with quiet purpose, her soaked jacket clinging to her slender frame, dark strands of hair dripping onto the wooden floor. She carried a guitar case slung over her shoulder, the strap worn but sturdy. Her gaze swept across the bookstore, as if assessing the space before settling into it.
Raine blinked, her curiosity piqued.
The woman didn't move toward the bookshelves like the other customers. Instead, she made her way to the small reading nook near the window, setting her guitar case down with careful precision before lowering herself into the chair. She didn't remove her coat, didn't shake off the rain. She simply sat there, silent, watching the storm outside as if waiting for something.
Raine hesitated before standing. Her steps were slow, deliberate, as she approached. "Rough night?"
The woman turned her head slightly, her eyes—dark and unreadable—meeting Raine's for the first time.
For a moment, she didn't answer. Then, in a voice barely above a murmur, she said, "Just passing through."
Raine tilted her head, intrigued by the way her voice carried a weight that didn't match the simplicity of the words. "Passing through where?"
A pause. "Nowhere in particular."
It was evasive, but not dismissive. Raine sensed something in the woman's tone—not quite sadness, but something close. She considered pressing further, but instead, she simply nodded. "Well, you're welcome to stay as long as you want. Just… try not to drip on the books."
That earned her a faint, almost imperceptible curve of the lips. Not quite a smile, but close enough that it made something stir in Raine's chest.
She stepped away, retreating back behind the counter, though her attention remained on the mysterious stranger. The woman didn't touch the books. She didn't even pick up a menu from the small café section. She just sat there, staring at the rain, lost in thought.
Minutes passed. Then, without warning, she reached for her guitar case.
Raine stilled.
The woman's fingers hovered over the latches, as if considering whether or not to open it. But just as quickly, she pulled her hands back, shaking her head slightly, almost to herself.
Raine couldn't help herself. "Do you play?"
The woman glanced at her again, something guarded in her expression. "I used to."
Used to. The way she said it made Raine's heart clench slightly.
She wanted to ask more, but something told her this was a person who didn't give away pieces of herself so easily.
So instead, she simply said, "I'd love to hear you play sometime."
The woman didn't respond. But this time, she didn't look away either.
They held each other's gaze for a moment, something quiet and unspoken passing between them.
Then, just as suddenly as she had arrived, the woman stood. She reached for her guitar case, slinging it over her shoulder. The rain still fell heavily outside, but she didn't seem to care.
Raine watched as she walked to the door, hesitating just briefly before stepping out into the downpour once more.
She left nothing behind. No name. No goodbye.
Only the lingering presence of someone who had come and gone like a fleeting melody.
Raine exhaled, staring at the empty space where she had been.
And for reasons she couldn't quite explain, she knew this wouldn't be the last time they met.