"The noise is fine. It’s the pneumonia that’s the problem," she replied, stepping closer. She tilted her umbrella, shielding him. The sudden cessation of rain hitting his shoulders felt like a physical weight being lifted. "I’m Clara."
The years that followed weren't perfect. There were days when Elias couldn't leave the house, and days when Clara’s own bright spirit flickered under the weight of her own struggles. But the phrase became their anchor. When the hospital bills came, when the bookstore closed, when the world felt like it was spinning too fast—they would find each other’s eyes and say it.
He felt a hand slide into his—smaller now, more fragile, but just as steady. Clara, in a yellow raincoat that had seen better days, smiled up at him. "Still a bit damp," she remarked. Im With You
But Elias carried a darkness he couldn't quite name—a persistent hum of anxiety and the crushing belief that he was fundamentally broken. One night, while they sat on the floor of her tiny apartment surrounded by half-finished paintings, the hum became a roar.
Elias squeezed her hand, feeling the warmth through her glove. "Yeah," he whispered. "But it's okay. I'm with you." "The noise is fine
"Then I’ll learn to breathe underwater," she said softly. "I'm not here because I think you're a project to be fixed, Elias. I’m here because I like the view from your ship, even when it’s taking on water."
Decades later, Elias stood in the same park where they had met. The bench was new now, made of polished wood instead of rusted iron. He was older, his hair a shock of white, but he still preferred the rain. The sudden cessation of rain hitting his shoulders
The rain continued to fall, but for the first time in a long time, the world didn't feel blurred at all.