Beneath The Rain

Chapter 6

The rain was heavier than usual, each drop striking the pavement like a reminder Adrian couldn't escape. The city outside his window blurred into a gray canvas, indistinct and dreamlike. He sat at his desk, the glow of the laptop illuminating his tired face.

The document on the screen bore Evelyn's name, but it wasn't her story anymore—not really. Every sentence felt like a thin veil, barely concealing the truth. Adrian's fingers hovered over the keys, trembling with hesitation. He had written about her arrival, their shared moments, and the cracks that formed between them. But what he hadn't written, what he couldn't write, was how it ended.

A knock at the door startled him.

Adrian turned, the sound pulling him from his thoughts. For a moment, he debated ignoring it, letting the rain drown out the world. But the knocking persisted, sharp and deliberate.

When he opened the door, Diana stood there, soaked to the bone. Her hair clung to her face, and her lips trembled, but her eyes—those eyes—were unyielding. She looked like a ghost from his past, fragile yet hauntingly vivid.

"You're here," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

"I didn't know where else to go," she replied, stepping inside before he could protest.

---

Diana sat on the edge of his couch, clutching a steaming mug of coffee. Adrian stayed by the window, watching the rain fall in relentless sheets. Neither of them spoke for what felt like an eternity.

Finally, she broke the silence. "You're still writing about her, aren't you?"

Adrian stiffened. "It's not about her."

"Adrian," she said, her voice heavy with meaning. "We both know that's not true."

He turned to face her, his frustration bubbling to the surface. "What do you want me to say, Diana? That I'm writing about you? That I can't stop thinking about what happened? Is that what you want to hear?"

Diana looked down at her mug, her fingers tracing the rim. "I want you to remember, Adrian. All of it. Not just the parts that hurt."

---

Flashback

It was a stormy night, much like this one. They had been driving back from a small cabin outside the city. Diana had insisted on taking the wheel despite Adrian's protests, her confidence unwavering even as the rain battered the windshield.

"You drive like a maniac," he had joked, trying to lighten the tension.

She had laughed, a sound that felt like sunlight piercing through the clouds. "And you worry too much."

But the laughter had stopped when the truck appeared out of nowhere, its headlights cutting through the darkness like blades. Adrian remembered the screech of tires, the deafening crash, and then nothing.

When he woke in the hospital, Diana was there, unscathed but shaken. She had been the one to pull him from the wreckage, to sit by his side as he drifted in and out of consciousness. But it wasn't long after that she disappeared from his life, leaving him with questions that had no answers.

---

"I remember," Adrian said, his voice breaking. "I remember the accident. The truck. The way you saved me."

Diana's eyes shimmered with unshed tears. "That's not all of it."

"What do you mean?"

She hesitated, the weight of her words pressing down on her. "You weren't the only one in the car that night, Adrian."

His heart stopped. "What are you talking about?"

Diana placed the mug on the table, her hands trembling. "There was someone else. Her name was Evelyn."

The name hit him like a physical blow. Evelyn. The fictional muse he had created, the character who had consumed his thoughts for months, wasn't fictional at all.

"She was your editor," Diana continued. "You two were close—closer than I ever was willing to admit. That night, you were arguing about the book, about the way you were writing me into your stories. I wanted to ignore it, but I couldn't anymore. You don't remember because you didn't want to."

Adrian sank into the nearest chair, his mind reeling. Evelyn wasn't just a creation; she was a fragment of his shattered memory. The flashes of her laughter, the way she would tap her pen against her notebook, the scent of her favorite lavender perfume—it all came rushing back in a flood of clarity.

"I... I don't understand," he whispered.

"You're not just grieving me," Diana said softly. "You're grieving her. And you've been using your writing to keep us both alive, even if it's killing you."

---

The rain outside began to ease, its rhythm softening into a gentle patter. Adrian sat in silence, the weight of Diana's revelation pressing down on him like a second storm.

"She walked into my life like a summer storm," he murmured, the opening line of his story echoing in his mind. But now, he wasn't sure if he had been writing about Diana, Evelyn, or both.

Diana stood, her movements slow and deliberate. "You need to finish the story, Adrian. Not for me. Not even for her. For yourself."

As she left, the apartment felt colder, emptier. Adrian turned back to his laptop, the blank screen waiting for him.

His fingers moved hesitantly at first, then with purpose.

"She walked into my life on a rainy afternoon, bringing with her the promise of something new. I didn't know it at the time, but she would change everything—my work, my heart, and my understanding of what it means to truly let go."

For the first time, the words didn't feel like a burden. They felt like freedom.

The rain outside continued, but Adrian knew it wouldn't last forever. And for the first time in a long time, he was okay with that.