The morning arrived with a hush, the kind of soft silence that only rainy days bring. The air was cool, scented with earth and promise. You stood by the window, your fingers tracing patterns on the glass, lost in thought. I watched you for a moment before wrapping my arms around your waist from behind.
"It's raining," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. "Let's not waste it."
So we didn't. We ran barefoot through the garden, laughter echoing through the mist, clothes clinging and soaked. The rain didn't feel cold it felt alive. Every droplet kissed our skin like a blessing. We danced, wild and unafraid, until we collapsed under the canopy of our favorite tree, hearts pounding in unison.
"This," you said, pressing your forehead to mine, "is how I want to remember us. Not perfect, but real."