Rain-Kissed Promises

The rain came suddenly—fast and wild, as if the skies had been holding back tears for too long.

Mae was halfway across Lexington Park when the first heavy drops slapped against her bare arms. She yelped, clutching her sketchbook tighter, and darted toward the nearest shelter—a narrow bus stop with a rusted bench and no timetable.

She wasn’t alone.

A man was already there, leaning against the pole with a dripping black umbrella. His dark jacket was soaked at the shoulders, and his jeans clung to his legs, rain-darkened and heavy. He glanced up as she arrived, his eyes warm and startled.

“Looks like you didn’t trust the forecast either,” he said with a crooked smile.

Mae exhaled a breathy laugh. “I trusted the sunshine more.”

He shifted slightly to make room on the bench, but Mae chose to stand, brushing the water off her sketchbook like it would help. “Is your phone working? Mine gave up the moment the clouds came in.”

He pulled his from his pocket and held it up. “Dead. Classic timing.”

She sighed. “Figures. I was trying to get to the art store before it closed.”

“What’s the rush?” he asked, genuinely curious.

“I ran out of pencils.”

He looked at her, then at the sketchbook in her arms. “Are you an artist?”

Mae shrugged, her cheeks flushing. “I guess so. I draw a lot. Helps me breathe, you know?”

The man nodded. “I’m Leo. I don’t draw, but I write music. Or try to.”

Mae tilted her head, intrigued. “Songwriter?”

“Mostly just melodies. Lyrics are hard. I always start and never finish. It’s like... I don’t know what the ending should feel like.”

Mae smiled. “Maybe you’re writing the wrong kind of endings.”

They fell into silence, the kind that feels like a blanket more than a wall. The rain wasn’t letting up—it drummed steadily against the roof, a rhythmic hum like background music. People scurried by with umbrellas, couples huddled together, cars splashed past with sighs of tires against wet pavement.

After a few more minutes, Leo opened his umbrella and extended it toward her.

“I’m not going to just stand here and let you catch pneumonia. Let me walk you somewhere dry.”

Mae hesitated. “What if you’re secretly a serial killer?”

He laughed. “Then I’d be the politest one you’ve ever met.”

She took a chance.

They walked side by side under the umbrella, the rain catching in the curves of the fabric and sliding down the edges. It was a small umbrella, too small for two, and Mae found herself close enough to feel the warmth of Leo’s arm against hers.

“You smell like oranges,” he said.

Mae laughed. “I spilled juice in my bag earlier. Not exactly perfume.”

“It suits you,” he said, not smiling, just honest.

They stopped at a small coffee shop tucked between a bookstore and a florist, its windows fogged from the inside and the smell of espresso wafting through the doorway. Leo held the door open. “Warmth?”

She nodded, and they slipped inside.

Over mugs of hot chocolate and wet shoes squeaking on tiled floors, they talked. About everything. About nothing. About music and art and how both of them had come to the city hoping for something more, something real, something that didn’t feel so temporary.

Mae didn’t usually open up quickly, but with Leo, it felt different. Natural. Like she’d met him before in a dream she forgot until now.

“I used to think love was this massive, dramatic thing,” she said. “Fireworks. Grand gestures. But lately… I don’t know. Maybe it’s just someone offering you an umbrella in the rain.”

Leo looked at her then, deeply and quietly. “Maybe love is exactly that.”

The storm outside eased into a gentle drizzle. They didn’t notice right away.

Hours later, when Mae checked the time, she gasped. “The store’s long closed.”

Leo smiled. “But we weren’t.”

They stepped out into the now-soft rain, and he didn’t open the umbrella this time. Instead, he looked up at the sky and let it kiss his face.

Mae did the same.

Their hands brushed. Fingers tangled.

“Can I see your sketches sometime?” he asked.

“If you let me hear your music,” she replied.

They didn’t say goodbye. There was no need. They walked together through the damp streets, leaving behind puddles and uncertainty, carrying with them only the fragile magic of a moment that felt like the start of something.

And though no promises were made that day, the rain had already sealed one between them—unspoken, gentle, and waiting to grow.