A Call in the Rain

It was one of those nights when the rain doesn’t just fall — it pours, drumming on the roof like a restless heartbeat.

Daniel sat by his window, phone in hand, watching the streetlights blur through the drops. He hadn’t meant to wait for her call — he told himself he wouldn’t. But when her name lit up his screen, he answered before the second ring.

“Hey you,” Amara’s voice crackled through the line, soft and warm like a blanket against the storm.

“Hey.” He tried to sound casual, but he knew she’d hear it — the way his voice softened only for her.

“I just wanted to hear you,” she said. “Are you okay?”

Daniel closed his eyes. Of course I’m okay. I’m always okay when you call. But he only said, “Yeah. Just the rain.”

They talked about everything and nothing — her cat curled on her lap, the movie she fell asleep watching, the funny way her neighbor sings in the shower. And then, like she always did, she whispered, “You know I love you, right?”

His heart squeezed. He wanted to say I love you too, and mean it the same way she did. But he knew her love was the kind that filled the spaces between words — never crossing the line.

“Yeah,” he breathed. “I know.”

They fell silent, listening to each other’s quiet. Daniel imagined her smile on the other end — the same smile she gave everyone, but somehow made him feel like the only one.

“Goodnight, Danny.”

“Goodnight, Amara.”

When the call ended, the rain kept falling — but Daniel sat there, phone pressed to his chest, wishing he could let go of the part of him that wanted more.

Outside, the world was soaked and clean and honest. Inside, Daniel promised himself that one day he’d find the courage to say I love you to someone who wanted it the same way he did.

And maybe next time, the rain would wash the confusion away.

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