“You are the most aggravating woman I’ve ever had the misfortune of loving.”

His voice cracked on the last word, as though it betrayed him. She blinked, rain slipping from her lashes, but didn’t look away. His hair was plastered to his forehead, his jacket useless against the downpour. And still he stood there like a man begging for a god that never answered.

“You don’t get to say that,” she said, her voice low, shaking for reasons that had nothing to do with the cold. “You walked away. You left when I needed someone to stay.”

“I had to leave,” he said, stepping forward. “Because if I stayed, I would’ve ruined you.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” she snapped, but her voice broke. “You didn’t ruin me, James. Life did that. You were just the echo.”

He flinched like she’d slapped him. For a moment, all either of them could hear was the rain on pavement, the distant hum of a traffic light buzzing red.

“I thought,” he said slowly, as if choosing every word was like pulling teeth from his own chest, “if I buried it deep enough—how I felt—maybe it would decay. But it didn’t. It grew. It grew into something… monstrous. Obsessive. Beautiful.”

She exhaled, the sound caught between disbelief and ache.

“Why now?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper. “Why here?”

“Because I saw your name in a bookstore window three weeks ago,” he said, stepping closer. “And I’ve been seeing it in my dreams every night since. Because I pass our café and still turn my head hoping you’ll be inside. Because you’ve lived under my skin for years, and I can’t go another step pretending you’re not everything I ever wanted and never thought I deserved.”

Her chin trembled.

“I hate you,” she murmured.

He laughed softly. “You always did say that right before you kissed me.”

She shook her head. “You think this is some grand confession? Some dramatic climax in the rain where I fall into your arms and all is forgiven?”

“No,” he said, his voice steadier now, softer. “I don’t expect forgiveness. I only came to tell you that you bewitched me before I even knew your name. That your laugh has echoed through every silent place I’ve tried to hide in. And if I die tomorrow, I need you to know—I loved you so completely, it scared the man I used to be.”

For a long time, she didn’t speak. The rain kept falling. The world kept turning. But she stepped closer. Only by an inch. Then another.

“…You’re still an idiot,” she said quietly.

He smiled, and it was the saddest, most hopeful thing he’d ever worn.

“I know.”