The rain whispered against the windows — soft, persistent, a sound that should've been comforting but somehow wasn't.
The house smelled faintly of vanilla and coffee, warm and homey, yet something about it felt off, like the air itself knew a secret.
Mira moved through the living room in quiet haste — fluffing pillows, aligning the magazines, straightening the little vase on the table. Every move was precise, almost rehearsed. Her hair clung to her face in loose strands, damp from the rain that she swore she hadn't walked in. She kept glancing at the clock, heart thudding louder with every passing second.
Then came the sound she'd been both waiting for and dreading — the slow turn of the key in the door.
Alden stepped in, his shoulders dusted with droplets, the faint scent of rain following him in. His hair was slightly wet, his shirt collar loosened from a long day. There was nothing unusual in his demeanour — not on the surface, at least. He gave her that lazy smile he always did when he came home, the kind that melted tension even when it shouldn't.
"Smells good," he said, shutting the door gently behind him. "You've been busy."
Mira turned with an awkwardly cheerful grin, clutching a dish towel in her hand. "Just thought I'd make the place feel extra cosy. You always look so tired when you come home."
He hummed in response, glancing around the spotless room — too spotless — before letting his gaze trail subtly toward the hallway, where a pair of muddy shoes sat by the door. He didn't stare long; just enough to notice the raindrops still glistening on the soles.
But when he looked back up at her, his expression was unreadable.
"Cosy," he repeated softly, stepping closer. "You even cleaned the study again, didn't you? You know I can tell when someone's touched my things."
Her smile faltered for just a second. "I was careful this time," she said quickly. "Didn't move anything, I promise."
He chuckled, the sound warm and almost teasing. "Mira, if you ever become a thief, you'll get caught in the first five minutes."
She crossed her arms, feigning offence. "That's rude."
"True, but accurate." He leaned in to press a light kiss to her temple, his eyes glinting. "You have that look — the one that says you've done something and are praying I won't notice."
Her breath hitched. "Maybe I just missed you," she murmured.
"Mm." He brushed a drop of rain from her cheek, his tone playful but laced with quiet curiosity. "And here I thought you missed the weather. Seems like you brought a little of it inside, didn't you?"
Her stomach dropped. "What?"
He smiled — a perfectly casual, devastating smile. "Nothing. Just an observation." He moved past her toward the kitchen, unbuttoning his sleeves as he spoke. "You know, I passed the park on my way here. The rain made the whole place look different. Muddy paths, dripping leaves, that smell of wet earth… It's strange how familiar it felt, somehow."
Mira froze, her back to him. Her throat tightened as she forced a laugh. "You and your poetic moods. You should be the writer, not me."
He poured himself a glass of water, watching her reflection in the microwave door. "Maybe. But I like observing things. Small things people miss."
Her hand trembled around the counter's edge. "And what did you observe today?"
He took a slow sip of water, then set the glass down. "Just that rain leaves traces," he said softly. "On everything it touches."
Silence. Only the rain filled the gap between them.
Mira turned toward him, trying to smile, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. "You're overanalysing again, Doctor."
He grinned faintly. "Occupational hazard." Then, softer, "You should rest, Mira. You look… restless."
She swallowed. "I'm fine."
"Good." He brushed past her, heading toward the study. "Because I'd hate to think you've been anywhere you shouldn't."
She stood motionless, her pulse echoing in her ears.
When she finally exhaled, the room seemed smaller, the sound of the rain louder — almost as if the house itself was holding its breath with her.
And from the hallway, Alden's calm voice drifted back:
"Oh, and don't forget to dry your shoes, love. Wouldn't want you catching a cold."
Mira's heart stopped for a beat.
She didn't turn — just stared at the rain sliding down the window, every drop feeling heavier than the last.