It had been three months since Rian last saw her.Summer had turned into a slow, patient autumn. The air felt heavier now, golden and tired, and life had quietly rearranged itself around him.
He'd enrolled in a short course, taken up sketching again, started spending more time at the library instead of the abandoned house.There were moments when he even forgot her — or at least, he thought he did.But then, a certain scent of rain, or a woman's voice carrying laughter through a street, would undo all that forgetting in an instant.
That afternoon, he was walking through the city after class, a sketchbook tucked under his arm.The sky looked like it could rain again — the same soft gray as that day he met her.
And then he saw her.
She stood near a bookstore, under the awning, flipping through a paperback.Her hair was shorter now. She looked the same — and not at all the same. There was a quietness to her, but also something lighter.
He froze, unsure if he should call out.But she noticed him first. Their eyes met — brief, surprised, gentle.
"Rian," she said, a little laugh escaping her lips. "You've grown."
He smiled faintly. "It's only been a few months."
"Still," she said, tilting her head. "You look different."
He wanted to say I had to. But instead, he said, "You look well."
For a moment, neither spoke. The street hummed softly around them — footsteps, distant horns, a drizzle beginning to whisper on the awning.
"Do you still go there?" she asked quietly.
"The house?"
He shook his head. "No. It started to feel like waiting."
Aya nodded slowly, her gaze lingering on the wet pavement. "Good. Waiting has a way of turning hearts to stone."
He looked at her then — really looked.The lines beneath her eyes, the calm in her smile, the distance she still kept even in kindness.
"I used to think you were cold," he admitted. "But you weren't. You were just… careful."
Her eyes softened. "And you were brave in ways that scared me."
They both laughed — quietly, as if sharing a secret the world wouldn't understand.
"I wanted to thank you," he said finally. "For that day. For stopping me."
She looked puzzled. "From smoking?"
He nodded. "From pretending to be someone I wasn't."
For the first time, she seemed to truly not know what to say. Then, slowly, she reached out — not to touch him, not this time — but to place her hand lightly over his sketchbook.
"Keep drawing," she said. "It suits you better than cigarettes."
He smiled. "And you? Still working too hard?"
"Trying not to," she said. "Trying to remember how to feel young without pretending to be."
The rain grew heavier, and people began to hurry past them.Rian opened his umbrella and instinctively held it above her. They stood there — close enough to hear each other breathe — but not touching.
It was strange. The silence between them wasn't heavy anymore. It was… peaceful.
"Goodbye, Aya," he said softly.
She looked up, her eyes glimmering with the kind of sadness that didn't hurt anymore."Goodbye, Rian."
And then she stepped away, disappearing into the crowd and the rain, until she was just another silhouette moving forward.
Rian stood for a moment longer, letting the umbrella tilt until the rain touched his face.
He realized that she had never really broken his heart — she had simply opened it.And now, it was his to keep.