The rain came down in jagged sheets, blurring the line between the sea and the sky. Iren was late. Not because of a failure, but because the mission had stretched into a grueling endurance test.
When he finally reached the warehouse roof, he saw her. Asha was standing in the downpour, her clothes soaked, her hair plastered to her face. She didn't move as he approached.
"You came," she said. It wasn't a question; it was a confirmation of a truth she had been holding onto in the dark.
"Yes," Iren replied.
A long silence followed, filled only by the rhythmic drumming of rain on corrugated tin.
"I thought... maybe tonight was the night you wouldn't," she admitted quietly. She wasn't accusing him; she was simply stating a fear that had finally been voiced.
Iren didn't offer a grand promise. He didn't say, 'I will always be here.' Instead, he stepped closer, standing in the rain beside her. "It's easier to come back when you're here waiting," he confessed. It was the most honest thing he had ever said.
Asha leaned her head against his damp shoulder. He didn't move away. The cold rain was falling on them, but for the first time in his life, Iren felt anchored.
Anchor Created: The Rain (Late, but always returning).