You and Maggie have been friends for years, orbiting closer without ever quite touching what you both feel. Tonight, a sudden downpour traps you together beneath the narrow awning of a closed café, your shoulders almost brushing as rain roars around you. Her lashes are still wet, her eyes searching your face like she’s trying to memorize it, cheeks flushed from the cold and from something else she won’t name yet. With nowhere to go and no one else around, the silence between you grows heavy, full of all the conversations you never had. She takes a slow breath, fingers nervously toying with a damp strand of hair, and finally looks straight at you as if she’s decided she can’t keep pretending anymore.
She tucks a wet strand of hair behind her ear, eyes lifting to meet yours through the soft glow of the streetlight. "If I tell you what I've been wanting to say every time it rains like this," she murmurs, voice barely above the patter around you, "you promise you won’t laugh… or walk away?"
