The rain didn't come with thunder or fury. It came quietly, like a secret whispered from the sky, soaking the mossy path beneath Hope's bare feet. She didn't mind. Rain always felt honest. And tonight, honesty was the one thing she needed.
She clutched the woven pouch close to her chest—the one Ilahash had given her the night they watched the fireflies fade. Inside it were folded petals from the blossom tree, a half-finished letter, and a shard of crystal from the riverbed. She didn't know what to do with any of it. But she couldn't let them go, either.
Branches above curled like the arms of sleeping creatures, and the canopy barely shielded her from the drizzle. Every step forward made her wonder if she should turn back. But something in her chest pulled her deeper into the woods—toward the clearing she hadn't returned to since that day.
When she reached the spot, it looked smaller. The stone where Ilahash once sat was darker now, slick with water. The circle of flowers they'd once danced around had wilted into the earth.
And then came the voice.
"I thought you'd stopped coming here."
Hope turned slowly. Ilahash stood in the mist, hair damp, his cloak hanging heavy with rain. His eyes—usually so unreadable—looked tired.
"I didn't plan to," she said, her voice quiet.
"You always come back when something's hurting."
She wanted to deny it, to pretend that wasn't true. But instead, she lowered herself to the wet stone, feeling its cold bite through her dress.
"There are things I should've told you," she said, looking down at the pouch.
Ilahash walked forward and knelt in front of her, his gaze drawn to her trembling hands. "Then tell me."
Hope unwrapped the pouch and pulled out the letter first. "I wrote this the day after you disappeared. I didn't know where you'd gone or why you left without saying anything. I thought maybe I'd done something wrong."
"You didn't," he said immediately. "You never did."
She gave a small, humorless laugh. "Then why did it feel like you did?"
The rain thickened, drumming softly between them.
Ilahash reached out and touched the corner of the letter with one fingertip. "I left because I was afraid of what I felt. What I still feel. You made everything inside me louder, and I didn't know how to hold it."
Hope looked up, her eyes shining with more than just rain. "You think I wasn't afraid too? I don't even know what this is… what we are."
He leaned closer, his voice just above a whisper. "We're two people who keep secrets because they're afraid of what happens when they speak."
The crystal in her pouch glimmered faintly, like it remembered its place in the story. She handed it to him. "Then no more secrets."
Ilahash took it, and for a moment, the air between them shifted. As if the trees themselves were holding their breath. The crystal pulsed once, faint and blue, before going still.
"I know what this means," he said quietly. "It's from the River of Memory. It only lights up when the truth is near."
Hope's heart stumbled. "Then it's time."
She reached out, her fingers curling around his. "Ilahash, I'm not just a girl with questions. I'm… changing. The forest, the magic—I think it's inside me now. I can feel it, like a second heartbeat."
Ilahash closed his hand around hers, eyes wide but not with fear—with awe.
"I believe you," he said.
They sat there, in the rain, hands joined. No longer hiding from their truths. No longer afraid of the way their hearts beat differently when they were together.
The rain softened, like it, too, had said what it needed.