Chapter 25: In the Rain Again
It began with rain.
Not the soft drizzle that whispered along rooftops, nor the harsh storm that thrashed its way through the sky—but something in between. Gentle, persistent, soaking. The kind of rain that asked no permission before entering your soul.
Anya stood beneath the wide overhang of the school's main gate, backpack hanging from her fingers, hair wet despite her attempts to shield it. Around her, the other students had long scattered. Only a few remained, slipping into rides or pulling umbrellas over their heads. But she stood still, unmoving, eyes searching the blur of the road.
Oriana hadn't texted. Not since lunch. Not since their eyes had met across the courtyard like it meant something.
She could have walked home. She could have run across the street, let the rain kiss her into chills, and been wrapped in her mother's old blanket twenty minutes later. But her legs wouldn't move. Her heart was waiting.
And then, like a slow exhale, she appeared.
Oriana's red hoodie was pulled over her head, clinging to her shoulders as though it, too, was in love with her. Her eyes were a little frantic as she jogged across the sidewalk, rain dripping from the hem of her sleeves, shoes slapping wetly against the pavement. She was late. She was breathless.
She was beautiful.
"Anya!" she called, raising a hand in apology. "I'm sorry—I couldn't get away. The teacher kept me behind for that stupid project—"
Anya stepped forward, and before Oriana could finish, she threw her arms around her.
The rain didn't matter anymore.
Oriana froze for half a heartbeat, and then melted. Her arms wound around Anya's waist as if they'd always belonged there. They were both wet. Cold. But in that embrace was something warmer than anything they could wear.
Anya pulled back slightly, her cheeks flushed. "I thought you weren't coming."
"I'd never leave you here."
"I would've waited forever," Anya whispered.
Oriana looked at her like the words broke something gentle inside her. "Don't say that. You deserve more than waiting."
Anya's eyes softened. "But you're worth waiting for."
Rain spilled over the roof above them, a curtain of silver. Oriana reached out, tugging Anya's hand.
"Come on," she said. "I want to show you something."
Anya hesitated. "Now? In this rain?"
Oriana grinned. "Especially now."
They ran.
Laughing, slipping on the wet pavement, hands entwined like they were writing their own vows in the sky. The streets were almost empty, the world quieter in the hush of falling water. Anya's shoes squelched with every step, and her heart thudded loud in her ears—not from exertion, but from the way Oriana kept glancing back at her, smiling like she was the secret to the sun.
They reached the park near the old train tracks—abandoned, overgrown, the place no one really went anymore. But Oriana led her there with a kind of reverence.
Anya watched her push open the creaky gate. "What is this place?"
"It used to be a garden. Before the town forgot about it." Oriana's voice lowered. "I come here when I want to feel alone… but in a good way."
They stepped inside. Nature had taken over long ago—moss covering benches, vines draping over fences, puddles forming like soft mirrors on the stone path. It felt untouched by time. Sacred.
Anya turned in a slow circle. "It's… magical."
"I thought you'd like it." Oriana was watching her with something quiet in her eyes. "You always look like you're searching for somewhere to belong."
Anya stopped turning. "That obvious?"
"I notice things about you," Oriana said. "Things you don't say."
Anya looked down. "I don't always know how."
Oriana stepped closer. "You don't have to. I'll listen anyway."
The silence between them stretched, but it wasn't empty. It was full of all the words they hadn't spoken yet, all the promises that hovered in the soft gray air.
Then Anya reached out and took Oriana's hand again.
"Let's sit," she said. "Tell me more about this place."
They sat on the old stone bench, half-covered in moss and memory. Rain tapped gently around them, misting their faces but not drenching them—shielded by the arch of old trees, like guardians of a forgotten love story.
Oriana brushed her damp hair behind her ears. "When I was little, my grandmother used to bring me here. Back then, it had flowers. Red and white. She said this place was planted by a couple who loved each other so much, they wanted the whole world to bloom with it."
Anya smiled, slow and soft. "That sounds like something out of a fairytale."
"Maybe it is." Oriana leaned forward, elbows on her knees. "But I liked believing it. I still do."
"And what about now?" Anya asked, voice low. "Do you believe in love stories like that?"
There was a long pause.
Then Oriana looked at her, and something inside her shifted. "I think I'm starting to."
Anya's breath caught. The world felt suddenly very small, as if it were folding in around them—trees leaning in, rain holding its breath.
"I never believed in anything like that before you," Anya admitted. "People always told me love was dangerous, or fleeting. That it hurts."
"It does hurt," Oriana said quietly. "But maybe it's supposed to. Because then we know it's real."
Anya nodded slowly. "You make me feel real."
Their eyes met again, and this time, it didn't shy away.
Anya reached out, fingertips brushing the side of Oriana's face, tracing the damp curve of her cheek.
"I want to kiss you," she said. Not a question. Not even a confession. A truth.
Oriana didn't blink. She leaned in, lips parting like she'd been waiting for this moment forever. "Then do it."
The kiss was soft. Shy. A promise spoken in silence.
But it deepened slowly, like a sunrise over the ocean—inevitable, warm, breathtaking.
They kissed in the rain like they'd been born for it.
Hands holding tight, hearts pressed together. There was no audience but the trees, no sound but the rhythm of rain and the soft gasp between breaths. Anya felt herself dissolve, dissolve into this girl, into this moment. Oriana was all she could feel.
When they finally pulled away, neither spoke for a while.
Oriana rested her forehead against Anya's. "You always look like a storm's living inside you."
Anya smiled through the trembling. "Maybe I am a storm."
"Then I'll be the one who dances in it."
Anya laughed, a little shaky. "That was cheesy."
"I meant it."
"I know," Anya said. "And that's what makes it perfect."
The rain began to let up, just slightly. The clouds above lightened. Somewhere in the distance, thunder rolled like a memory being folded away.
Anya reached into her pocket, pulling out a tiny paper crane she had folded in class earlier that day—creased and a little soggy now.
"I made this for you," she said, handing it over.
Oriana looked at it like it was priceless. "You remembered."
"You said you used to fold them with your grandmother."
"She always said each one held a wish."
Anya nodded. "I wished you'd come today."
Oriana looked at her, then kissed her again—brief, soft, full of gratitude. "Then I think it worked."
They stayed in the garden for a long time.
Talking. Laughing. Holding each other. The world outside the gates no longer mattered. They didn't care that their clothes were soaked through, or that their phones had probably short-circuited in the wet. The only thing that mattered was the way their fingers fit together, how their voices sounded when saying each other's names.
Eventually, the rain stopped completely.
Sunlight pushed shyly through the clouds, golden and warm. And Anya, watching the way it danced across Oriana's face, realized something:
She wasn't just falling in love.
She was already there.
And somehow, that didn't scare her anymore.