When The Rain Fall

Spring melted into summer, and for the first time in a long time, Mia felt like she wasn't waiting anymore. She and Liam fell into something new—something tentative, but real. They met under the oak tree often, sometimes talking for hours, sometimes just sitting in silence, watching the world move around them.

It wasn't the same as before. There were still unspoken things between them, wounds that hadn't fully healed. But this time, Liam didn't pull away. He stayed. And that was enough.

One evening, as they sat on a blanket beneath the tree, watching the stars blink to life in the night sky, Mia asked the question that had been on her mind for weeks.

"Where did you go, Liam?"

He didn't answer right away. Instead, he lay back against the grass, staring up at the sky. "A small town up north," he finally said. "By the coast. I needed to be somewhere quiet. Somewhere I could figure out what I wanted."

Mia turned onto her side, propping her head up on her hand. "And did you?"

He smiled slightly, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "I realized I spent so much time mourning the past that I forgot how to live in the present." He turned his head toward her. "But I also realized something else."

"What's that?"

His gaze softened. "That the only time I ever really felt at peace… was with you."

Mia's heart stuttered. She wanted to believe him. She wanted to believe that he was back for good, that he wouldn't run the moment things got too heavy.

"Liam…" She hesitated. "I need to know that if I let you in again, you won't disappear."

He sat up then, his expression serious. "I won't."

She searched his face, looking for any trace of doubt. But all she saw was quiet certainty.

Maybe that was enough.

She nodded, exhaling slowly. "Okay."

A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "Okay?"

She rolled her eyes but couldn't help smiling back. "Yes, okay."

And just like that, something shifted.

In the weeks that followed, they slowly rebuilt what had been broken. It wasn't perfect—there were moments of hesitation, of fear—but they faced them together.

Liam started painting again. Not just small sketches in his notebook, but real, sprawling canvases full of color and light. One evening, he invited Mia to his apartment, the same one she had once found empty, abandoned. But now, it was alive again. Paintings covered the walls, an unfinished canvas sat on the easel, the air smelled of oil paint and coffee.

"I never thanked you," he said as she wandered through the space, taking it all in.

"For what?"

"For believing in me. Even when I didn't believe in myself."

Mia turned to face him. "You're worth believing in, Liam."

He took a step closer. "So are you."

And before she could respond, he kissed her.

It wasn't hesitant or fleeting like she had once feared it would be. It was steady, warm—like the feeling of coming home after a long journey.

When they finally pulled apart, Liam rested his forehead against hers. "I don't know what the future holds," he admitted. "But I know I want to figure it out with you."

Mia smiled, her fingers brushing against his. "Then let's start writing it together."

And so they did.

Not as a perfect love story, not with grand declarations or certainty of forever. But with small moments, quiet promises, and the understanding that love—like the old oak tree—wasn't about avoiding the storms.

It was about standing tall through them.

And together, they did.