The next time we met, it wasn't at the café.
It was raining, and I had forgotten my umbrella like always. I was rushing into the art supply store around the corner when I almost slipped on the wet tile near the door.
A hand caught my arm before I could fall.
Steady. Warm. Familiar.
"You alright?"
His voice.
"Elijah," I said, surprised. "What are you doing here?"
"Refilling on sketch pads. And apparently, saving lives."
We both laughed. And just like that, the awkwardness that should've been there… wasn't.
We walked through the store together.
Me, looking for new watercolors.
Him, comparing pencils with the focus of someone who respected quiet things.
I glanced at him once just once and found him already looking at me.
Not in the way Jayden used to.
Not like he was checking if I was pretty enough or trying to figure out what he could take.
Elijah looked at me like he was simply glad I was there.
"You have a good laugh," he said.
"I don't hear it often," I replied honestly.
"Then whoever made you forget it… made a mistake."
My heart didn't leap. It didn't race.
It opened.
At checkout, he paid for his things and waited beside me, holding the door as we both stepped out into the rain again.
"Still no umbrella?" he teased gently.
"Still too stubborn to carry one."
"I've got you," he said, lifting his. "Walk with me?"
So I did.
We walked slowly under the small cover of his umbrella. Close, but not too close. Our arms barely touched but it was enough to feel the tension. Not pressure. Just awareness.
"You always this calm?" I asked.
"Not always," he said. "But I've learned that peace is a choice. I only keep what doesn't break me anymore."
That stayed with me.
I only keep what doesn't break me anymore.
When we reached my street, I stopped and smiled up at him.
"Thank you. For the umbrella. For the sketchpad rescue. For… everything."
"Thank you for walking beside me," he replied.
There was a beat of silence. The kind that begs for a question neither of you is ready to ask.
But neither of us rushed it.
We just stood there in the rain, under one umbrella, like the moment knew not to end too quickly.
"I'll see you soon?" he asked.
"Yes," I said without thinking.
And I meant it.
---
That night, I looked at myself in the mirror.
Wet hair. Bare face. Raw heart.
And I saw a version of myself that I hadn't known existed before.
One that could be seen… without trying.
One that could be wanted… without pain.
One that didn't have to beg to feel enough.
I sat at my desk, opened my journal, and wrote:
He didn't touch me, but I felt held.
He didn't kiss me, but I felt chosen.
He didn't promise forever but somehow, this small moment felt more real than all the "forevers" I used to believe in.
Maybe this wasn't love.
Not yet.
But it felt like the beginning of something brave.