It was a quiet Sunday evening, the kind that arrived like a balm after a bruising week. Work had been relentless for both of us—late nights, short tempers, and the lingering tension that followed Nina's birthday party still hung around like smoke after a fire. But in the days that followed, Nina had been… different. Softer. Sweeter. She touched me more—gentle squeezes of the hand, random forehead kisses, the kind of affection that said more than words ever could. It was as if she was trying to make up for something, though I never asked what. Maybe I didn't want to know.
We hadn't talked much about that night—about the way she'd stormed out when Nora's name came up, or the look in her eyes when I finally caught up to her outside. But we'd held each other tightly that night, and every night since. There was something sacred in her silence, something deliberate in the way she moved closer to me again, as if clinging to a reality she feared might slip away. I let her. I welcomed her closeness, even if part of me didn't understand it. What mattered more was that she was here. With me.
So when she came out of the shower that morning, wrapped in a towel and humming a song I didn't recognize, and said, "Let's go on a real date tonight," I didn't hesitate. It felt right—necessary, even. We needed something untouched by confusion or questions. Just a night to laugh, to eat, to kiss across a candlelit table and forget everything else. I told her I'd make the reservation and pick the place. She grinned and kissed my cheek, telling me to surprise her, like she used to back when everything was new.
I spent the whole afternoon thinking about her. About what she might wear. About how her eyes would light up when I complimented her, and how I'd find some excuse to touch her hand across the table. It reminded me of our early days—those nervous, charged evenings where every glance meant something, where I was still learning the shape of her smile and the meaning behind her silences. Somehow, after everything, I wanted to do that all over again. Fall in love with her again, like I hadn't already done it a thousand times before.
And maybe that's what love really was—choosing her, over and over, even when the air between us felt heavy. Especially then. So I showered, shaved, and put on the dark blue shirt she once said made my eyes look "delicious," and waited for the evening to unfold. It wasn't just a date—it was a moment. A chance to make a memory we could return to, long after the chaos quieted. A night for just us.
It was the kind of night that made everything feel like it was made just for us.
The restaurant was tucked into a quiet street downtown, almost hidden, like a secret we stumbled upon. From the outside, it didn't look like much—warm lights glowing behind foggy windows, a wooden sign hanging crookedly that read Sotto Mare. But inside, it was magic. The scent of garlic and butter drifted through the air, soft jazz played from speakers somewhere overhead, and the walls were lined with photos of strangers kissing or laughing over half-finished meals.
Nina looked like she belonged in every single one of those frames.
She wore a dark green satin dress that hugged her like a second skin, the color bringing out the warmth in her eyes. Her hair was pinned loosely at the nape of her neck, tendrils escaping and brushing her bare shoulders. She wore gold hoops, the kind that shimmered every time she laughed—which she did often tonight, especially when she caught me staring.
"You've been looking at me like I'm dessert," she teased, sipping from her wine glass.
I grinned, leaning back. "I'm trying to remember how the hell I got lucky enough to be here with you."
She tilted her head, her smile turning soft. "You asked me to dinner a year and half ago and you haven't shut up since."
I laughed, but the truth of it hit deeper than she realized. I hadn't shut up, because I was afraid that the silence between us would reveal how much I needed her. And tonight, with her across the table—her fingers occasionally brushing mine, her mouth curling around pasta and secrets—I needed her more than ever.
We ate slowly, deliberately. Linguine in white wine sauce, grilled shrimp, roasted lemon chicken. I fed her a forkful of my risotto, and she moaned like she was trying to kill me with that sound alone.
"You're going to make me do something scandalous in a public place," I muttered, and she only raised an eyebrow.
"You're welcome to try."
By the time we finished dessert—chocolate tart with sea salt and fresh cream—the sky outside had gone ink-dark. I paid, and we stepped out into the cool night, hand in hand.
"Want to take a walk?" I asked, already knowing the answer.
She looked up at the sky. "Looks like it might rain."
"Then let's walk faster."
We laughed and started down the sidewalk, shoes clicking softly against the pavement, her heels slightly sinking into the occasional crack. She talked about an art gallery she wanted to visit, and I rambled about a book I'd read twice already just because one of the characters reminded me of her—troubled and beautiful and impossible to stop loving.
The first drop of rain landed on my cheek like a warning.
I glanced up. "Uh-oh."
Nina gasped and pointed. "You jinxed it!"
The rain picked up fast—drizzle to downpour in seconds. We both squealed, running for the nearest shelter, which happened to be a bus stop across the road. We ducked beneath it, laughing breathlessly, her hair already damp and sticking to her forehead.
Her makeup had started to melt, but I swear she looked even better—smudged eyeliner, flushed cheeks, glistening skin. Drops of water trailed down her neck, disappearing into the soft dip between her collarbones.
"You're staring again," she said, breathless, her voice warm with mischief.
"You're rain-soaked and glowing. What do you expect me to do?"
She laughed, and then, without a word, she slipped off her small shoulder bag, setting it along with her phone on the metal bench behind us. I watched, confused, until she turned toward the rain again, her back to me, her arms lifting slowly like wings.
And then—she stepped into it.
Into the middle of the street. Her palms turned upward. Her face tilted to the sky.
"Nina!" I called, half laughing, half exasperated. "Are you serious?"
She turned her head just slightly, rain sliding down her cheeks like tears. Her dress clung to her now, soaked and sheer, her skin glowing beneath it. She extended one hand toward me, fingers outstretched.
"Come dance with me," she said. "Please."
For a moment, I stood there frozen—caught between wonder and something else. A strange, tightening in my chest. Something that almost felt like dread. Not because of her, but because of how much I loved her. Because in that one moment, she looked too good to be mine. Like she belonged to the storm.
But I went.
I stepped out from under the shelter and into the rain, into the open street where she waited. Her hand found mine instantly, and she laughed—wild and free—as I pulled her toward me and spun her in the water.
We didn't care who was watching. We were soaked to the bone, rain splashing around our feet, our clothes sticking to our skin like second thoughts. I held her waist, and she threw her arms around my neck, laughing breathlessly as we twirled in the middle of the road.
Her hair stuck to her cheeks. Her lipstick had faded. Her eyes shone like the headlights of passing cars.
And then she stopped dancing.
She looked up at me, face glowing and lips parted, chest rising and falling in time with mine. The world slowed. The rain dulled. Her hand slid down my arm until her fingers tangled with mine.
"Promise me," she said.
My heart stalled. "Promise you what?"
"That this won't change," she whispered. "That you won't wake up one day and forget to talk to me. That you won't get tired of me. Promise me you won't disappear."
God.
I stared at her, thunder cracking somewhere behind us. The rain was loud again, soaking through everything, but her voice cut through it.
I saw it then—what lay beneath her smile. The shadow in her eyes. She was afraid.
Of being left. Of being unloved. Of being too much.
I wanted to tell her that she was all I ever wanted—but my throat tightened. I felt it all rushing in, the weight of how much I loved her, how scared I was to lose her, how much it hurt to even imagine that one day I could forget the sound of her laugh or the feel of her hand in mine.
"I'm scared too," I admitted.
She blinked at me.
"I'm scared of losing you. Of messing this up. Of not being enough for you."
She shook her head fiercely, stepping closer until we were inches apart.
"Don't say that. You're everything."
The rain fell harder. We were soaked and shivering, but I didn't care.
I held her face in my hands, feeling the cold drops slide between my fingers.
"I promise," I said, voice rough with emotion. "I won't change. I won't stop talking to you. I won't stop loving you."
Her eyes flooded. Her lips parted.
And I kissed her.
In the middle of the street, in the middle of a storm, I kissed her like she was the only thing keeping me alive.
It was slow. Deep. Her lips were cool from the rain, but her mouth was warm and familiar. She wrapped her arms around my neck, standing on her toes, her body pressed against mine like we were made to fit this way. The world disappeared around us—no cars, no city, no time.
Just us.
A bus horn blared nearby, startling us apart.
We looked up to see headlights turning the corner, the vehicle heading straight for us.
"Shit," I breathed, grabbing her hand.
We ran, laughing breathlessly, slipping and stumbling, back to the bus shelter. We collapsed onto the metal bench, panting, soaked, cold, and completely in love.
Nina leaned against me, water still dripping from her hair onto my shirt. I wrapped an arm around her and kissed her temple.
She looked up at me, eyes bright.
"That was insane," she whispered.
I nodded. "Yeah. But I'd do it again."
The bus passed by without stopping. We didn't care.
We just sat there—tired, wet, and happy—listening to the rain, waiting for the storm to pass, not knowing that this night would become the memory I'd come back to again and again.
The night we promised forever in the rain.