Chapter 3 — SKETCHES IN THE RAIN
Rain returned two days later, soft and persistent, like the city itself couldn’t bear to stay quiet. Elaris always wore the rain well — glass towers reflecting the sky, silver bridges glowing under pale streetlamps.
At Wynn’s Blossoms, the scent of damp petals mixed with warm tea. Cathy Duke sat by the wide front window, sketchbook open, tracing the faint outline of the Glass Bridge once more. Her fingers moved delicately, capturing the play of reflections — a shadow here, a streak of light there — until her pencil paused.
Without realizing it, she had drawn him again.
His figure at the edge of the bridge, head tilted toward the rain, expression unreadable. The faintest smile, the kind that carried both sadness and peace.
Cathy’s lips curved softly. Her mother often teased that she drew emotions better than faces. Maybe that was true — she couldn’t hear the world’s voice, but she could feel it. And lately, it felt like it was whispering his name.
That afternoon, Luna, her best friend, dropped by — a small tornado of color and chatter. Her green scarf trailed behind her as she pushed through the shop door.
“There you are!” Luna said, signing quickly as she spoke for Cathy’s comfort. “I swear, this city gets gloomier every week. I half-expected you to have grown gills by now.”
Cathy smiled and signed back: Rain is beautiful. You talk too much.
Luna gasped, feigning outrage. “Excuse me? I’m your voice, remember? If I don’t talk, who will?”
They both laughed — one aloud, one silent but just as bright.
Then Luna’s eyes narrowed, catching sight of the open sketchbook. “Hmm. Who’s this? Don’t tell me my quiet angel has been sketching a man?”
Cathy rolled her eyes, but Luna snatched the book before she could close it. “He’s handsome!” Luna exclaimed, flipping the page closer to her face. “Strong jawline, that moody ‘I think too much’ expression. What’s his name?”
Cathy hesitated, then wrote on a slip of paper: Adrian Rivers.
Luna blinked. “Adrian Rivers. Never heard of him. A customer?”
Cathy shook her head, cheeks faintly pink. I met him on the bridge.
Luna smiled knowingly. “Of course you did. Where else does romance begin for poets and painters?” She softened, placing the book down. “Just… be careful, Cathy. People aren’t always who they seem.”
Cathy signed: He was kind.
“Kind isn’t always enough,” Luna said, but her tone was gentle, not scolding.
Later that evening, after closing the shop, Cathy found herself walking toward the Glass Bridge again. The rain was heavier now, falling in rhythmic sheets, turning the city into a watercolor painting.
Halfway across, she stopped. A familiar umbrella — black, tilted slightly — stood at the same place where they’d met before.
Her heart leapt.
“Cathy,” Adrian said, his voice half-lost in the rain. He looked different tonight — no coat, sleeves rolled up again, raindrops tracing his skin. “You came.”
She smiled faintly, nodding.
He glanced up at the clouds. “You don’t mind getting drenched, do you?”
She shook her head, pulling her small umbrella lower. Then she held up her sketchbook, showing him the newest drawing — him on the bridge, half-turned, caught in rainlight.
Adrian’s breath caught. “That’s… me?”
She nodded once.
“It’s perfect,” he said softly, eyes still fixed on the page. “You make it look like I belong here.”
Cathy quickly wrote a line:
You do.
For a long moment, he didn’t speak. Rain slid from his hair, down his cheek. His voice was quieter when he finally said, “No one’s ever drawn me before. It feels… strange. Like you’re seeing something I didn’t know was there.”
Cathy smiled, tucking the sketchbook back against her chest. She wished she could tell him that was exactly what art did — it revealed what words hid.
Instead, she lifted her hand in a simple sign: Thank you.
He tilted his head, curious. “For what?”
She wrote:
For not being afraid of my silence.
Adrian’s eyes softened. He took a slow step closer, his voice a whisper almost lost in the rain. “Your silence isn’t empty, Cathy. It’s full. I think I’ve just been too loud to hear something that quiet before.”
Her throat tightened. For the first time in years, she wished she could answer out loud.
They stood there under the trembling light, two strangers wrapped in rain — neither realizing that this moment, fragile and wordless, would be the start of everything neither of them dared to dream.
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