Rain had a way of softening the edges of the city.
It blurred the streetlights into golden halos, washed away the dust from tired sidewalks, and drew people into corners where warmth still existed—coffee shops, bookshops, and bus shelters where strangers huddled close but said nothing. April liked the rain, though. It gave her a reason to pause, to breathe, to watch the world slow down.
That afternoon, she ducked into a small café she had never noticed before. It wasn't grand or polished like the ones in the center of town. Its windows were fogged, the sign above the door slightly crooked, but the air inside smelled of roasted beans and cinnamon, and that was enough.
April shook the water from her umbrella, smoothing her damp hair as she stepped inside. The café was almost empty, just a few scattered customers. A man with a laptop near the corner, two elderly women chatting quietly, and one other—a man near the window, gazing out into the rain as though it were speaking to him in a language only he could understand.
He didn't notice her at first.
April ordered her usual—caramel latte with extra foam—and found a small table by the wall. She pulled a book from her bag, but her eyes kept drifting to the man by the window. There was something about him. His dark hair fell slightly over his forehead, unstyled but natural, like he didn't care much about appearances. His fingers drummed on the table absentmindedly, yet there was an intensity in the way he looked outside, as though he were waiting for someone who would never arrive.
When the barista called out "Caramel latte for April," her cup nearly slipped from her hand. The man by the window turned his head at the sound of her name. For a fleeting second, their eyes met. His gaze was warm, curious—deep brown, like earth after rain.
"April?" the barista repeated, louder this time.
"Yes—sorry, that's me," she said quickly, reaching for the cup. Her cheeks warmed. Why did it feel as though he were still watching her?
She tried to focus on her book, but the words blurred on the page. Curiosity got the better of her. She glanced at him again—and this time, he caught her.
A faint smile tugged at his lips.
April looked away immediately, scolding herself silently. You don't even know him. Stop staring like a lovesick teenager.
But fate, it seemed, had other plans.
Minutes later, when April reached for the small packet of sugar on her table, her elbow nudged her cup. In one careless moment, the latte tipped, spilling across her table, dripping dangerously close to her book.
"Oh no!" she gasped, scrambling for napkins.
Before she could move, the man by the window was already there, kneeling beside her table with a handful of tissues.
"Here—quick, before it soaks the pages," he said, his voice low but urgent. He pressed the napkins against the spreading coffee, saving the book from certain ruin.
April blinked, startled by his sudden closeness. Up close, he was even more striking—sharp jawline softened by stubble, eyes that carried both gentleness and a storm she couldn't name.
"Thank you," she breathed, embarrassed. "I'm usually not this clumsy."
He chuckled. "Rainy days do that to people. Makes the world a little slippery."
April let out a nervous laugh, still blotting the table. "Or maybe I just attract disasters."
"Well, if it helps, you made my day a little less boring," he said, offering her a half-smile. "I'm Brandy, by the way."
"April," she replied, her voice softer than she intended.
"I know," he said, nodding toward the barista's counter. "The whole café knows."
She laughed then, a sound that seemed to surprise even herself.
For the next few minutes, Brandy helped her clean up the mess, his movements unhurried, as though he had nowhere else to be. When they finished, her book was safe, the table was dry, and the awkwardness between them had shifted into something lighter, easier.
"Do you mind if I join you?" he asked, gesturing toward the empty chair across from her.
April hesitated only a second before nodding. "Sure."
He sat down, folding his arms on the table, studying her with that same quiet intensity she had noticed earlier.
"So, April," he began, "what kind of book is worth risking a caramel latte flood?"
She held up the novel, smiling shyly. "It's a romance. Don't laugh."
"Why would I laugh?" His eyes crinkled. "Everyone needs a little romance. Even cynics like me."
"You don't look like a cynic," she teased.
"That's because I hide it well."
Their conversation flowed easily after that, surprising April. They talked about books, music, even small, silly things like the best way to eat pancakes. She found herself laughing more than she had in weeks. There was something about Brandy—something grounding, as though he saw the world not as it pretended to be, but as it truly was.
Yet beneath his warmth, April sensed a shadow. Every so often, his gaze would drift back to the window, lingering on the rain as though it carried memories he couldn't shake. She didn't ask; some silences didn't need filling.
Time passed unnoticed. By the time April checked her phone, nearly two hours had slipped away.
"Oh no," she muttered, standing quickly. "I was supposed to meet a friend at six."
Brandy stood too. "Don't let me keep you."
She hesitated. Something inside her—something reckless—didn't want to leave just yet.
But she only said, "Thanks again… for saving my book. And my pride."
Brandy smiled faintly. "Anytime."
As she opened her umbrella at the door, she heard him call after her.
"Hey, April."
She turned.
"Don't let the rain make you forget today."
The words lingered in her chest long after she stepped into the storm.
Later that evening
April sat across from her best friend, Mia, in a cozy diner. Mia was already halfway through her fries when she asked, "So why are you late? Don't tell me you fell asleep again."
April hesitated. Should she tell Mia? The encounter felt fragile, like a secret too new to share. But the warmth in her chest betrayed her.
"I met someone," April admitted softly.
Mia's eyes lit up instantly. "Spill. Who? Where?"
"At a café. He helped me when I… spilled coffee everywhere."
"Classic April," Mia teased. "And? What's he like?"
April thought of Brandy's eyes, the way his voice carried a weight beneath its calm, the way he had said don't let the rain make you forget today.
"He's… different," she murmured, more to herself than to Mia.
Mia smirked knowingly. "Different is usually code for handsome."
April smiled, but she didn't argue.
Across town
Brandy lingered in the café long after April had gone. The rain had slowed, the world outside glistening under the streetlamps. He ran his fingers along the rim of his empty cup, lost in thought.
He hadn't planned to speak to her. He hadn't planned to speak to anyone, really. For months now, silence had been his companion. It was easier than explaining the things he carried, easier than pretending he was fine.
But then she had walked in—April, with her bright eyes and clumsy hands—and for the first time in a long while, Brandy felt something stir. A reminder that the world still held small miracles, even on rainy afternoons.
He leaned back, exhaling slowly. Don't get ahead of yourself, he warned silently. People came and went. That was life.
And yet… he couldn't shake the sound of her laughter.
The next morning
April woke to sunlight streaming through her curtains. The rain had gone, leaving the air fresh, alive. She stretched, smiling at the memory of the café.
It had been such a small thing, really—a spilled coffee, a stranger with kind eyes. But April believed in beginnings. She believed every encounter had meaning, even the fleeting ones.
Still, she shook her head, telling herself not to dream too much. Life wasn't a romance novel, no matter how much she loved reading them.
And yet… somewhere in the back of her mind, Brandy's voice whispered again.
Don't let the rain make you forget today.