Beneath The Rain

Chapter Three

The rain had begun again, weaving a tapestry of sound that filled the early morning air. Adrian stirred awake, the rhythm tapping against the glass like a familiar lullaby. Yet, for all its constancy, the rain always felt different—sometimes a comfort, other times a cruel reminder of what he'd lost.

His dreams had been restless again. Diana's face lingered at the edges of his memory, her voice like an unfinished song. Every night, it seemed, he revisited the fragments of their time together, though the pieces never quite fit.

Adrian sat up, his gaze falling on the notebook on his bedside table. The line from the night before stared back at him:

"Evelyn loved music, but she hated silence."

It wasn't just Evelyn who hated silence. Diana had filled their days with music, her playlists always running in the background like the soundtrack to their lives. The memory brought a pang to his chest, sharp and unrelenting.

His phone buzzed, pulling him back to the present. Emily's message was brief but familiar:

"Storm's rolling in. Usual table's ready if you need it."

He smiled faintly and typed back, "On my way."

---

The café greeted him with its usual warmth, a stark contrast to the chill outside. The smell of freshly brewed coffee wrapped around him as he stepped inside, shaking droplets from his umbrella.

Emily waved from behind the counter. "Morning, Adrian. Let me guess—late night with Evelyn again?"

He smirked faintly, hanging up his coat. "She's stubborn. Keeps me up."

Emily chuckled as she poured his coffee. "Sounds like someone I know." She slid the cup toward him. "Take it easy, okay? You look like you could use it."

Adrian nodded and retreated to his corner table, where the rain streaked the window in blurred patterns.

He opened his notebook, staring at the blank page. Writing Evelyn's story felt like trying to navigate a labyrinth—every path led him back to Diana.

---

It had been raining the night Diana left.

Adrian remembered it vividly, though he wished he didn't. She had been quiet all evening, her usual spark dimmed. He had noticed, of course, but he hadn't asked. He was working on a deadline, and she had learned not to interrupt him when he was writing.

But that night, she had interrupted anyway.

"Adrian, we need to talk."

Her voice had been soft, hesitant, yet firm enough to pierce through his concentration. He had turned to her, confused.

"What's wrong?"

Diana's hands fidgeted, twisting the silver bracelet he had given her for their first anniversary. "I don't think I can do this anymore."

The words had hit him like a sudden gust of wind, stealing his breath.

"What do you mean?" he asked, though deep down, he already knew.

"You're so... distant," she said, her voice trembling. "It's like you're here, but you're not. I've tried to be patient, Adrian, but I feel like I'm living with a ghost."

"I've been busy," he had replied defensively. "You know how important this book is—"

"I know," she interrupted, her tone sharp. "I know the book is important. But what about me? What about us?"

The rain outside had grown louder, a relentless backdrop to the storm brewing between them.

Adrian had wanted to say something, to tell her she was important, that she mattered more than anything. But the words wouldn't come.

And so she had left.

---

Adrian's pen hovered over the notebook as the memory faded, leaving an ache in its wake. He tried to focus on Evelyn, to separate her from Diana, but the lines between them were blurring.

"Evelyn had a way of making you feel like you were the only person in the room. But she also had a way of disappearing quietly, leaving you wondering if she'd ever been there at all."

The words startled him. They felt too raw, too close to the truth. He set down the pen, staring out at the rain.

"Refill?" Emily's voice broke through his thoughts. She stood beside him, holding a fresh pot of coffee.

"Sure," he said, pushing his cup toward her.

As she poured, her gaze lingered on the notebook. "Making progress?"

"Something like that," he muttered.

Emily gave him a knowing look. "You know, you don't have to figure it all out today."

"I know."

But even as he said it, the weight in his chest remained.

---

When Emily walked away, Adrian leaned back in his chair, staring at the notebook. That's when he noticed it—a folded piece of paper tucked into the back cover.

Frowning, he pulled it out. The paper was old, the edges worn, as though it had been handled many times. He unfolded it carefully, and his breath caught when he saw the handwriting.

It wasn't his. It was Diana's.

The single line scrawled across the page sent a chill down his spine:

"You never wrote the ending."

Adrian stared at the words, his heart pounding. He had no idea how the note had gotten there. The notebook had been untouched for years, left to gather dust after Diana's departure.

The note felt like an accusation, a challenge. But more than that, it felt like a door opening to questions he wasn't ready to ask.

Outside, the rain intensified, pounding against the glass. Adrian closed the notebook, the note still clutched in his hand.

Diana was gone. She had been gone for years. And yet, somehow, she was still here, her presence woven into every word he wrote, every thought he tried to escape.

The rain continued to fall, unrelenting, as Adrian sat in the café, staring at the note. For the first time in a long while, he felt something stir inside him—a need for answers,