The sky hung low that Tuesday, heavy with unspoken rain. The river glimmered dull silver, ripples stirring the reflection of an overcast afternoon.
They walked together without speaking, past shuttered shops and ivy-choked walls, until they reached the stone steps by the riverbank — the quiet place where time felt thinner.
Ciel set his sketchbook beside him, spine cracked and pages feathered at the edges. Elara hesitated, then sat close enough that their shoulders touched, her coat brushing his.
Neither dared to move away.
For a moment, they watched the water flow, dark and endless. Elara felt her heartbeat in her throat, in her fingertips, in the tiny space between them.
"Can I see?" she whispered at last.
"See?" he echoed, voice rough.
"The sketches," she said. "The ones from before we met."
His hand trembled slightly as he opened the book. Charcoal faces stared up at them — her face, but not quite; softer here, sadder there; sometimes smiling in a way she'd never seen in a mirror.
At the corner of each page: dates. Days and months before they'd spoken.
"I drew you every time I dreamed," he whispered, voice low."I was afraid… afraid if I didn't, you'd vanish even from memory."
Elara's breath caught. Her chest tightened painfully, eyes burning.
In the margins, he had written Elara — again and again, long before he knew her name.
"Why me?" she asked, voice shaking.
"Because it was always you," he murmured, as if it were the simplest truth in the world. "Even if you didn't remember, some part of me always did."
The wind stirred, cold and salt-scented from the river. Elara reached out, fingertips hovering above a sketch where she looked older, wearier.
"Do you think it's the same us?" she asked softly. "The same hearts… living and forgetting over and over?"
"I don't know," Ciel whispered. "But I know I've been waiting for you every time."
Silence wrapped around them, thick with something unnamed. She turned to him fully, heart hammering, words caught in her chest.
"Ciel…" she whispered.
"Elara," he breathed.
Then, before the fear could speak again, she leaned forward — and so did he.
Their lips met, hesitant, trembling at first; then deeper, as if fear and longing folded into something gentle and raw.
The kiss tasted of rain and cold wind, of pages smudged with charcoal and memories not yet fully theirs.
It was an apology for every goodbye they couldn't remember, and a promise for every hello that might come again.
When they parted, Elara's breath came quick and ragged. She pressed her forehead to his, eyes wet.
"Promise me," she whispered, voice breaking. "Even if next time… neither of us remembers… you'll keep looking."
"I promise," he whispered back, though his own voice trembled. "And if I forget… then promise you'll look too."
"I promise," she breathed.
For a moment, nothing else existed but two souls and the wind and the quiet ache of something too big for words.
Above them, the sky finally let go. Raindrops fell, soft at first, then harder — but neither moved.
They stayed under the gray heavens, breath mingling, hearts fragile but brave enough to love anyway.