Amara thought she would forget him after a day or two. People pass through life all the time. Some encounters feel sharp in the moment but fade when the next routine settles in. She assumed Leo would be one of those fleeting shapes, a stranger she met in the rain, someone who made her laugh for five minutes and then disappeared from her story.
But he didn't fade.
He stayed in the corners of her thoughts, showing up at the quiet moments she usually pushed through with habit. She would be revising wedding invitations with her mother and catch herself thinking about the way he shook water from his hair. She would lie in bed beside Daniel after a long phone call, listening to him talk about the office, and her mind would drift back to the warmth in Leo's voice when he said he was glad she was okay.
There was nothing romantic about it, she told herself. Nothing dangerous. Just a pleasant memory that kept resurfacing.
But she felt different since meeting him.
Awake in a way she hadn't expected.
Daniel didn't notice. He was too busy to notice much lately. His new project was turning into something bigger than he planned, and every conversation circled back to deadlines or meetings or potential partners. She listened, nodded, and pretended to care more than she did. She wasn't unkind, just tired of having the same talks night after night.
She wanted something real. Something raw. Something she didn't have to shape into the correct response.
She didn't know that longing had a name until she heard his voice again.
It happened three days after the rain.
She was walking back from the grocery store with a bag in each hand, annoyed at herself for buying more than she planned. Her phone rang. She shifted the bags to one arm and reached into her pocket without checking the caller ID. She expected Daniel or her mother.
"Hello?"
There was a pause, then a voice she recognized.
"Amara?"
Her breath caught. She stopped walking without meaning to.
"Leo?"
"Yeah. Hey. Sorry. I know it's weird that I'm calling. I wasn't sure if I should."
She blinked, startled and unsure what to say. "How did you get my number?"
"From the bookstore," he said. "Where we hid from the rain. They know me there. I… might have asked if they remembered your name."
Her heart picked up a little. "And they gave you my number?"
"No," he said quickly. "That would've been creepy. They said you ordered a book last month, so I asked them to pass my number to you instead. I figured if you wanted to talk, you'd call. But they surprised me and said you gave permission for them to share your number today."
Amara frowned. "I didn't go there today."
Silence.
Then he laughed under his breath. "So they mixed it up. And now I'm accidentally calling you."
She should have been annoyed. She should have ended the conversation right there. But his voice softened every sharp edge inside her.
"It's okay," she said quietly. "Really."
"I can hang up if you want."
"No," she said before she thought. "It's fine."
Another small pause. She could hear street noise on his end. People talking. Wind brushing the phone.
"I'm glad you picked up," he said. And the warmth in his voice made her chest tighten in a way she couldn't explain.
"How's your bike?" she asked, trying to sound casual.
"Traumatized," he said. "It refuses to make eye contact with puddles now."
She laughed. He sounded delighted by that.
"I fixed the wheel though," he added. "Sort of. It wobbles like a toddler learning to walk, but it moves. Movement counts."
"Are you always like this?"
"Like what?"
"Making everything sound lighter than it is."
"Someone has to," he said. "The world's heavy enough."
She grew quiet. He didn't rush to fill the silence. He waited, as if he felt what she was thinking even without her saying it.
"Are you walking somewhere?" he asked gently.
"Yes. Just heading home."
"Is it a good walk or one of those I-just-want-to-get-there walks?"
She huffed a small laugh. "The second one."
"Where are you now?"
She looked up at the intersection. "Maple and Fifth."
"Oh. I'm near there."
Her stomach dropped. "You are?"
"Yeah. Actually…" he hesitated. "I see you."
She turned instinctively. And there he was, standing on the opposite corner with his repaired bike at his side. His hair was pushed back. His shirt was half-tucked like he had rushed out the door. And he was looking at her with the same warm, steady expression from the rain.
She lowered the phone slowly. He did the same. Then he walked across the street, weaving through cars as they slowed at the light.
Her pulse thudded in her ears.
"You're really here," she said.
He shrugged, but his eyes were gentle. "It's a small city."
She didn't know what to do with the grocery bags in her hands. She felt suddenly awkward, standing in front of him with apples and pasta boxes weighing down her arms.
"Need help?" he asked.
"No. I'm okay."
"You sure? You look like you're holding up the entire produce section."
She smiled in spite of herself. "Maybe just the heavy part."
"I'm good at carrying heavy things," he said. "I work in carpentry. My whole job is convincing wood to do what I want."
That pulled a real laugh from her. She handed him one bag, keeping the lighter one for herself.
He took it without hesitation.
"I didn't expect to see you again," she said.
"I wasn't sure if I would," he admitted. "But I hoped."
They started walking, not because they planned to, but because her feet naturally turned toward home and he fell into step beside her. It felt easy. Natural. Like talking to someone she'd known longer than three days.
"How's the wedding planning?" he asked, carefully choosing his words.
She swallowed. "It's… a lot."
"That a good lot or a lot-lot?"
She didn't answer right away. She didn't need to.
He nodded. "Got it."
She looked at him. "You don't even know what I'm trying to say."
"I know what it sounds like," he said. "That's enough."
She didn't argue. Something about him made honesty easier than silence.
"I'm doing everything right," she said quietly. "Everything I'm supposed to do. It just doesn't feel like enough."
"For you," he said softly.
Her throat tightened.
"For everyone else," he added, his voice calm. "But not for you."
She blinked fast. She didn't want to cry in the middle of the sidewalk with a man she barely knew. Yet his words hit something inside her that had been shaking for weeks.
"How did you know?" she whispered.
"Because you look tired when you talk about your life," he said. "But you didn't look tired when you talked in the rain."
Her steps slowed. The wind brushed her hair. The bag on her arm swung gently.
"You barely know me," she said.
"Maybe. But I listened."
No one had said those words to her in years. People usually assumed they listened to her because they heard her voice. But Leo listened. Really listened. He heard the things under her words, the parts she hid from everyone else.
"Is your fiancé good to you?" he asked carefully.
"Yes," she said honestly. "He is."
"But?" he asked.
She didn't answer.
They reached the corner near her apartment building. She stopped walking. So did he. He handed her the bag gently, not wanting to overstep.
"Thank you," she said.
"It was just one bag," he replied. "Gravity did most of the work."
She laughed, wiping her eye before a tear could slip down.
"You know," he added, his eyes steady on hers, "if you ever need to talk. Or not talk. Or just walk around holding groceries that are definitely heavier than they look… I don't mind."
Her breath caught. "Leo…"
"I'm not trying to mess anything up," he said. "I just want you to feel like yourself for a minute."
She looked at him, really looked at him, and felt the quiet warmth spreading through her chest again.
He stepped back slightly so she wouldn't feel cornered.
"Take care, Amara," he said softly.
She nodded. "You too."
He rolled his bike away, the wheel wobbling like he said it would. She watched him until he turned the corner, a small smile forming on her lips even though her heart felt heavier than before.
Once she reached her apartment, she stood in the hallway for a moment before unlocking the door. The grocery bags dug into her fingers, but she didn't move.
All she kept hearing was his voice.
Warm. Steady. Honest.
And behind that voice, a question she didn't dare say aloud.
Why does a stranger feel more like safety than the life I'm about to marry?
She closed her eyes and let the question echo inside her.
It didn't bring an answer.
But it brought the truth.
She wasn't forgetting Leo anytime soon.
Not now.
Not ever.