Rain's POV :
There's a strange feeling in my chest.
It's the kind of feeling that builds quietly, far away, like water pressing against a dam—silent, patient and inevitable.
I can sense it coming toward me whether I'm ready or not, and the worst part is knowing that no amount of stillness will stop it.
All of this—
I don't know how I'm supposed to feel about it.
Or maybe I do know.
And that's the part that makes my throat ache.
I reach for another book from the shelf, my fingers moving before my thoughts catch up. Same series. Same worn edges. Same familiar weight in my hands.
I open it with a strange mix of dread and hope curling low in my stomach.
It's there again.
Letters scrawled the way I would have written them.
Big words circled twice, aggressively.
Rs littering the margins.
Sentences crossed out and rewritten, as if he'd argued with himself.
As if he'd hesitated, worried about saying the wrong thing to someone who wasn't even there anymore.
