Hannah woke to the sound of rain tapping against the window again — gentle this time, like the weather had softened overnight. The house was quiet, the kind of quiet that came after laughter and long conversation.
For a moment, she didn't move. She just listened. Then she realized she wasn't alone in the kitchen — faint footsteps, a clink of dishes, and the low hum of the kettle warming.
When she stepped into the hallway, Emma was there, half-dressed in one of Hannah's oversized sweaters, hair messy, sleeves falling past her hands. She turned with a sheepish grin.
"Morning. Hope you don't mind — I found the tea."
Hannah leaned on the doorway, smiling. "Help yourself. It's good to see someone else actually using that kettle."
Emma poured two cups and slid one toward her across the counter. "You have a nice place. It feels like you — quiet but alive."
Hannah laughed softly. "That's a polite way of saying 'tiny and full of old books.'"
"Exactly my type," Emma said, eyes warm.
They sat by the window while the rain came and went, drinking tea and sharing bits of silence that didn't feel awkward. Every now and then, Emma would glance over — small looks, the kind that said more than words could.
Finally, Hannah said, "I don't know what happens next. But I don't want to pretend this doesn't matter."
Emma reached for her hand across the table. "Neither do I."
Outside, the world was still damp, the air cool and bright. Inside, something had shifted — not in a dramatic way, but in that quiet, certain way that changes everything.