Three years before she forgot him.
The first time Aurelia Moreno met Adrian Vale, she was arguing with an umbrella.
It was a losing battle.
The wind had turned her little black umbrella inside out, rain had soaked the sleeves of her cream cardigan, and the paper bag containing her books was rapidly dissolving in her hands.
"Oh, come on," she whispered at the umbrella. "You had one job."
The umbrella snapped again.
Lia stared at it.
"Traitor."
"Would you like some help?"
The voice came from behind her—deep, warm, and unmistakably amused.
Lia turned.
And forgot, for a brief second, that she was standing in the rain.
The man behind her was tall. Not just tall, but the sort of tall that made the narrow pavement seem smaller around him. His dark hair was damp from the rain, and his black shirt clung slightly to his athletic shoulders beneath an open charcoal coat.
He had a handsome face, a strong jaw, and dark eyes that seemed to notice far more than he said.
He was holding a perfectly functional black umbrella.
Lia looked at his umbrella.
Then at her broken one.
Then back at him.
"Are you offering to rescue me," she asked, "or are you laughing at my suffering?"
His mouth curved into a smile.
"I haven't decided yet."
She narrowed her eyes.
"That's a terrible answer."
"Then I'll try again." He stepped closer and tilted his umbrella to cover her. "May I walk you somewhere dry?"
Lia hesitated.
Her mother had spent years telling her not to trust strange men.
But her mother had never mentioned what to do when a strange man looked as though he belonged on the cover of a romance novel.
"There's a café around the corner," she said eventually. "I'm going there."
"Excellent. So am I."
"You don't even know which café I'm talking about."
"Then I suppose you'll have to lead the way."
She tried not to smile.
She failed.
And Adrian noticed.
He noticed everything.
The café was small, warm, and filled with the smell of cinnamon and freshly brewed coffee. Rain tapped against the windows while soft music played in the background.
Lia chose a table beside the glass.
Adrian pulled out the chair opposite her.
"Thank you," she said, settling into her seat.
"You're welcome."
A moment passed.
Then another.
Lia became painfully aware that she didn't know his name.
"I'm Lia."
"Adrian."
She repeated it silently.
Adrian.
For some reason, the name sounded as though it belonged in a sentence she hadn't finished writing.
She shook the thought away.
"So, Adrian," she said, folding her hands around her warm cup, "do you normally rescue strangers in the rain?"
"Only the ones who threaten umbrellas."
"I did not threaten it."
"You called it a traitor."
"It betrayed me first."
He laughed.
It wasn't a polite laugh or the restrained chuckle of someone trying to impress her. It was genuine, low, and unexpectedly boyish.
Lia found herself smiling again.
They talked about little things at first: the rain, the café, the books she was carrying, and his habit of ordering coffee without sugar.
Then the conversation became easier.
She discovered that Adrian worked in finance and had a habit of taking long walks when he needed to think. He discovered that Lia collected handwritten notes, loved old bookstores, and believed that the smallest moments often became the memories people treasured most.
"That's a very specific philosophy," he observed.
"It's true."
"Give me an example."
She considered the question.
"This morning, an old woman on the bus gave up her seat for a pregnant woman. Nobody thanked her because everyone was busy looking at their phones." Lia smiled faintly. "I noticed. I think she deserved to be noticed."
Adrian studied her for a moment.
"What?" she asked.
"Nothing."
"That isn't a nothing face."
"A nothing face?"
"Yes. You're looking at me as if you've discovered something."
He lowered his gaze to his coffee, hiding the smallest smile.
"Maybe I have."
For the first time that afternoon, Lia felt shy.
She looked out at the rain.
Neither of them knew that, years later, Adrian would remember this conversation with an almost unbearable clarity.
He would remember the way she held her cup with both hands.
The little crease between her eyebrows when she was thinking.
The tiny drop of rain that had remained caught in her eyelashes.
And he would remember the first moment he realized that he wanted to see her again.
Not tomorrow.
Not sometime next week.
Again and again, for as long as she would let him.
When the rain finally stopped, Adrian walked Lia to the bus stop.
The pavement glistened beneath the streetlights, and the evening air smelled clean and cool.
Her bus appeared in the distance.
"Well," Lia said, adjusting the strap of her bag. "Thank you for the umbrella rescue."
"My pleasure."
"And for the coffee."
"You're welcome."
She took two steps toward the approaching bus before turning back.
"Adrian?"
He looked at her.
"Will I see you again?"
The question escaped before she could make it sound casual.
For a second, she wished she could take it back.
Then Adrian smiled.
"If you'd like to."
Lia tried to look composed.
"Maybe."
"Then maybe I'll be at the café tomorrow."
"Maybe I'll be there too."
Her bus pulled up.
She climbed aboard and found a window seat. As it pulled away, she looked back through the rain-streaked glass.
Adrian was still standing beneath the streetlight.
He raised one hand in a small farewell.
Lia waved back.
Then the bus turned the corner, and he disappeared from view.
She pressed her lips together, trying to contain a smile that had no sensible reason to exist.
It was ridiculous.
She had met the man less than two hours ago.
She didn't know his birthday, his favourite colour, or whether he was the kind of person who left wet towels on the bed.
She didn't even have his number.
And yet, as she watched the city lights slide past her window, one thought settled quietly into her heart.
I hope he comes tomorrow.
Across the city, Adrian stood alone at the bus stop for another minute before taking out his phone.
He opened his notes and typed a single line.
Lia Moreno — likes old bookstores, handwritten notes, and arguing with umbrellas.
He stared at it, smiling to himself.
Then he added one more sentence.
Ask her to coffee again. Don't let her leave without your number this time.
He put his phone away and started walking home.
Neither of them knew that, one day, he would give anything to be a stranger she could meet for the first time again.
Because the cruelest part of their love story would not be the day they fell apart.
It would be the day Adrian discovered that the woman who once asked if she would see him tomorrow no longer remembered ever meeting him at all.
To be continued…