It was supposed to be a normal evening.
That's what Sara told herself as she stepped out, phone pressed to her ear, mind far louder than the street around her. The sky had darkened faster than expected, clouds gathering like they knew something she didn't.
And then it rained.
Not softly.
Not politely.
The kind of rain that soaks intentions and ruins plans.
"Great," she muttered,
stopping under the nearest shelter—an old bus stop, empty except for flickering lights and the sound of water hitting concrete.
She hugged her arms around herself.
A few seconds later, footsteps.
She didn't need to look up.
She knew.
Nicole stopped a few steps away, clearly surprised to see her there.
His hair was already wet, shirt clinging to him, chest rising like he'd been running—from the rain or from something else, she wasn't sure.
"Oh," he said. "You too?"
"Looks like it," she replied, eyes fixed on the road.
Awkward silence.
Again.
The rain filled it, loud enough to make pretending impossible.
"You're avoiding me," he said suddenly.
She laughed—not amused. "I was going to say the same thing."
He shifted, uncomfortable. "I didn't mean to make things weird."
"You didn't," she said quietly.
Then added, "You just didn't say anything."
That hit.
Nicole exhaled slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. "I wanted to."
She looked at him then. Really looked.
"Then why didn't you?"
Because fear has a voice too.
And it was screaming inside him.
"Because if I start," he said, barely above the rain, "I don't know how to stop."
Her breath caught.
The world shrank—to the bus stop, the rain, and the words hanging between them.
For a moment, it felt like he might finally say it.
Like this time, silence wouldn't win.
Thunder cracked in the distance.
And Nicole stepped back.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I shouldn't have said that."
Something in Sara's expression closed.
"No," she replied gently. "You shouldn't have almost said it."
The rain slowed.
But the damage didn't.
When it finally stopped, they walked away in opposite directions—
both knowing this wasn't over,
and both terrified of what would happen when it was.
Because some moments don't bring answers.
They bring inevitability.