Scene: Two weeks later — late night, rain falling softly outside.
She sat by her window, scrolling through old messages — the ones that still made her smile. They hadn't spoken in days. A small misunderstanding had grown into silence, and pride had built walls where love used to stand.
Then — a knock at the door.
She hesitated, heart racing. When she opened it, he stood there — drenched, holding a single flower.
Her: quietly "You're soaked."
Him: "I know… I just couldn't stay away anymore."
She looked at him — his eyes tired, his voice soft — and her heart softened too.
Her: "Why now?"
Him: "Because every minute without you felt wrong. I know we both said things, but I'd rather fight with you than be right without you."
Tears filled her eyes. She stepped closer, her voice trembling.
Her: "You really hurt me."
He nodded slowly, guilt in his eyes.
Him: "I know. And I'll spend every day proving I can do better. Just don't shut me out, please."
Silence. The rain hit harder outside. Then, she reached for his hand — the same way she did the night at the park.
Her: "You still remember what you said to me that day?"
Him: smiles faintly "That with you, I'm living."
Her: "Then let's live — just… slower this time."
He laughed softly, pulling her into a warm hug.
Him: "Slower's fine. As long as it's still you."
And as the rain washed the past away, they stood there — hearts still bruised but beating together again.
Because real love isn't perfect. It's choosing each other — even when it's hard.