The rain stopped that evening, leaving the city smelling like wet earth and second chances. Mara lingered outside the café after Eli left, her fingers still warm from where his hand had brushed hers when he passed her the cup. It was such a small thing—and yet it echoed through her like the softest kind of thunder.
That night, she dreamed in color again.Not the muted grays and browns that had filled her sleep for months, but bright, living tones: sunlight on canvas, cobalt skies, the amber of laughter. When she woke, her cheeks were damp—not from tears, but from something lighter. Something closer to hope.
Two days later, she saw him again.She hadn't planned it—she told herself she wasn't waiting—but there he was, crouched on the street corner with a camera pressed to his eye, the late afternoon light catching the curve of his jaw. He looked up, surprised but pleased.
"Mara." His smile widened, slow and certain. "You found me."
"I was just walking," she lied.
He grinned. "And I was just working."He turned the camera toward her. "Hold still?"
Before she could answer, the shutter clicked.
Mara blinked. "You could've asked.""I did," he said, laughing. "Sort of."
He showed her the screen. The photo was startlingly intimate—the wind in her hair, the faintest smile she hadn't realized she was wearing. She looked... alive.
"I haven't taken a good photo in weeks," Eli admitted. "I think I was waiting for the right light."
"And I was just... waiting," she said softly.
Something flickered in his eyes then—something unspoken, but real.He handed her a small, worn business card. His name, number, and a logo: Grant Photography.
"Come to my exhibit next weekend," he said. "It's nothing fancy, but... I'd like you there."
"Why?" she asked, though her heart already knew.
"Because," he said, voice low and honest, "you make things feel worth showing again."
That night, Mara hung the photo he'd taken on her fridge. The edges curled slightly, and the ink smelled faintly of rain. She touched the image, feeling the soft tremor of connection through the paper, and whispered to herself:
"Maybe this time, I won't run."
But far across the city, Eli sat in his studio, scrolling through his camera roll.Past landscapes, portraits, smiles—and then one photo he never showed her.
A woman by the ocean. Laughing, sunlight in her hair.
He closed his eyes, the memory tightening his chest."Not again," he whispered. "Please... not again."
Outside, the rain began to fall once more