Rain Check

They were supposed to meet for five minutes—just to return something she borrowed. The sky had been clear when she left home, but halfway there the clouds rolled in heavy and fast.

When the rain finally poured, it came with no warning.

He saw her running and lifted his umbrella just in time. “Come here!”

She ducked under it, breathless, rainwater dripping from her hair. The umbrella was small—too small for two people—so she had no choice but to stand close. Too close.

“You’re soaked,” he said softly.

“And whose fault is that?” she teased, shivering slightly.

He adjusted the umbrella, but the movement only pressed them closer, her shoulder brushing his chest. A streak of lightning lit the sky, and for a moment their eyes locked—bright, startled, intimate.

Neither looked away.

His hand tightened on the umbrella handle. “We should… find somewhere to wait it out.”

But they didn’t move. The rain roared around them, drowning the world, leaving just the two of them inside a small circle of safety…and tension.

She could feel his warmth through his shirt, smell the faint cologne mixing with the rain. He kept glancing at her lips, then pretending he wasn’t.

“You’re staring,” she whispered.

“So are you,” he murmured back.

Another flash of lightning. Another moment suspended.

They didn’t kiss. They didn’t step away.
They just stood there under one small umbrella, hearts beating like the storm was inside them.

When the rain finally slowed, neither was in a hurry to leave.

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