The rain did not fall—it roared. It hammered against cement, fabric, glass, and skin, drowning out the music of the ballroom they had left behind. The air was thick with thunder, the world blurred into streaks of silver and shadow.
She stood just beyond the great doors, her satin gown soaked through, clinging to her as if trying to anchor her in place. A moment ago, she had turned her back on everything she was raised for—her family, her promise, her future. She had spoken words that cut deeper than any blade: I will not be yours.
Inside, the ballroom still spun on, laughter strained, whispers venomous. She knew what would be said of her.
Disloyal. Cold. Foolish.
But none of it mattered anymore. She had stepped out into the storm, and the storm had accepted her.
And then, she wasn't alone.
He was there already, just across the steps, as though the storm itself had guided them to meet.
His coat clung to his shoulders, his hair slick with rain, but his eyes… his eyes held the same weight she bore, the same emptiness carved from years of devotion to the wrong person.
For a long moment, they only stared.
Two strangers, yet not strangers at all. Two lives that had bent themselves around others, only to shatter when their devotion was rejected—or perhaps, when they finally had the courage to reject it themselves.
Lightning tore the sky open, spilling white fire between them. The thunder rolled after, but neither flinched.
She lowered her gaze, watching the puddles spread at her feet, the ripples that distorted her reflection. It looked like her—yet not. A woman broken, freed, lost, and unbound all at once.
He exhaled slowly, a sound almost swallowed by the storm. His chest rose and fell, as though each breath hurt, but also as though it was the first time he had truly breathed in years.
No words passed between them. None were needed.
The rain pressed harder, urging her forward. Her slippers slipped on the stone, yet she moved—one step, then another. He remained still, rooted, but his eyes followed her every motion, steady, unyielding, as though anchoring her steps.
And then she was in front of him. Close enough that she could see the trail of water down his cheek, unsure whether it was rain or tears. Close enough that the heat of his body bled through the cold.
Her hand trembled. She lifted it, hesitated, lowered it again. For years, her hands had reached for someone else—someone who had smiled at her, promised her, betrayed her. But tonight, her hand did not belong to the past.
Again, she lifted it. This time, he met her halfway.
Fingers brushed. Stopped. Then, as if the storm itself demanded it, their hands closed together.
It was not warmth she felt. It was not safety. It was recognition.
Two souls, cracked in different places, yet jagged edges that seemed to fit.
Around them, the storm slowly shifted. The downpour softened to a drizzle, the thunder retreating into distant echoes. The ballroom's music was still there, faint and hollow, but its world no longer belonged to them.
Her chest rose with a sharp, shaky breath. His grip steadied her. His shoulders, for the first time in years, did not carry the weight of someone else's name.
They did not smile. They did not kiss. They simply stood—two figures at the edge of everything they had been, staring into something unknown.
Perhaps tomorrow the world would condemn them. Perhaps betrayal still waited in shadows, waiting to ensnare them again. Perhaps their choice tonight would bring ruin.
But for this moment, the storm had ended.
And in the fragile quiet that followed, they remained.
Not apart.
Because Until Now and Then was their time.