Member-only story
Where the Rain Holds Its Breath
Her pulse was in her throat now, and she wasn’t sure if it was the closeness of him or the way the sketch seemed to pulse with its own energy
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The rain had come suddenly, a sharp burst that left the air thick and trembling. They were sitting in his truck, parked on a backroad that cut through the woods. The windows fogged from their breath, blurring the world outside into soft, shapeless silhouettes.
He leaned back in the driver’s seat, one arm draped over the wheel, the other resting casually on his thigh.
She was turned toward him, her knee tucked under her, close enough to feel the slow, steady pull of his presence.
It wasn’t the kind of silence that felt empty.
It pressed against her, charged and waiting, like the storm outside.
“You’re restless,” he said finally, his voice low, steady.
She tilted her head, studying him.
The way the rain slid down the windshield cast shadows over his face, breaking his stillness into sharp lines.
“So fix it,” she said, her words daring, but soft.
