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In a quiet town where even the wind moved slowly, there was a girl who always sat by the window of the small café on the corner. Every afternoon at exactly 4:00 p.m., she would be there — sketchbook in hand, headphones over her ears, drawing people who didn't know they were being drawn.
She didn't speak much. She didn't need to.
She had the kind of face you'd see in a dream and forget by morning — not because it wasn't beautiful, but because it felt like something you weren't meant to hold.
That's how he saw her the first time.
He was just passing through town. A transfer student. Tall, quiet, with eyes that noticed everything. He walked past the café every day, and every day, she was there.
She never looked up.
Until the third day — when it rained.
He walked by, dripping, no umbrella. The bell above the café door rang softly as he stepped in. And just as he brushed past her table, she looked up and said:
> "You look like someone who hates the rain, but secretly needs it."
He froze. "Excuse me?"
She smiled, eyes still on her sketchbook. "It's the way you walk. Like the rain annoys you, but your heart listens to it."
He didn't know what to say. No one had ever seen through him like that — especially not in a single glance.
He sat at the table across from her.
That's how it started.
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He didn't ask for her name.
She didn't ask why he sat there every day.
But something in the air had changed.
Each day, the silence between them grew more comfortable. She'd sketch, he'd read. Once, their hands brushed as they reached for the sugar at the same time.
Neither of them pulled away.
One afternoon, as golden light spilled through the windows, she turned her sketchbook toward him.
> It was him.
Eyes gentle. Smile he didn't know he had.
And above the sketch were the words:
"You look better when you don't hide."
He looked up at her.
And for the first time,
he chose her smile over his silence. Perfect. Let's continue your secret romantic novel…
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Chapter Two: The First Almost
The café stayed warm long after the sun had set. The windows were fogged slightly from the rain outside, but inside, the world felt soft. Familiar.
They didn't talk much after she showed him the sketch.
He simply looked at her… like she wasn't real.
Like she was the last thing left in a world that had gone quiet.
> "Why me?" he finally asked.
She raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"
> "You draw people. But you drew me. Just me. Why?"
She closed her sketchbook slowly and said:
> "Because your silence was louder than anything else in the room."
That silence fell between them again — not awkward, not strange.
Just honest.
They started meeting outside the café after that.
They'd walk in the park. Sometimes talk, sometimes just listen to the breeze. She learned that he didn't like crowds, and he learned she hated saying goodbye. He told her he played the piano when no one was watching, and she confessed that she drew versions of herself she could never be.
One night, they stood by the bridge just after curfew. The town was
Got it, Amie — no kiss, just a beautiful and emotional ending. 💖
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Final Chapter: The Day the Rain Stopped
Months passed.
They met every afternoon at the café.
Walks, laughter, quiet glances, shared glows.
The kind of closeness no one else could touch.
She never asked for more.
He never needed to explain.
They just were — like the moon and the tide, always finding their way back to each other.
But the day he told her he was leaving, the rain didn't come.
For the first time in all the days they'd known each other, the sky was clear. Bright. Almost cruel.
> "It's only for one year," he said softly. "I'll be back."
She smiled — the same small, real smile he fell in love with — and handed him something wrapped in paper.
> "Don't open it until you're far enough away to miss me," she said.
He nodded, eyes gentle. "What if I miss you right now?"
She looked at him — long, full of meaning.
> "Then you'll feel everything I didn't say in that package."
He didn't hug her. She didn't cry.
They just stood there — two hearts quietly pressed together without a sound.
Then he turned, walking toward the bus station, her gift in hand.
Hours later, on the road out of town, he opened it.
Inside was her final drawing.
> It was him and her — sitting at the café, sunlight pouring through the window, not touching, not speaking… just smiling in the same direction.
And in the corner of the page, four words she'd never dared to say:
> "You were my calm."
He stared at it, heart full, and whispered into the quiet bus:
> "And you were my home."
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🌸 The End.