It was raining the first time they crossed paths.

Not the kind of storm that screams —
but the kind that seeps.
The kind that makes the whole city feel like it's holding its breath.

Elara Voss didn't mean to be out that late.
She'd lost track of time inside a bookstore tucked between ivy-covered buildings, and by the time she stepped out, the sky had opened — slow, steady rain trickling down the streets, catching in her lashes.

Her scarf was loose. Her fingers cold. She kept her head low, camera bag tucked beneath her coat, boots clicking lightly on the slick cobblestones as she moved through the fading evening.

She didn't see him coming.

Not until it was too close — a sudden presence, tall and fast and dark — stepping out from a narrow alley at the exact moment she turned a corner.

They collided — just slightly. A shoulder brushing against hers. A jolt of motion and pressure.

She staggered back a step, steadying herself. Her breath hitched — not in fear, just surprise.

The man didn't stop.
Didn't apologize.
Didn't look back.

Black coat. Rain on leather. Gloved hands. A low voice murmuring something under his breath — not to her, but to himself — and then silence as he disappeared into the downpour.

Just like that.

Gone.

Elara stood still for a moment, heart racing harder than it should've been.
She wasn't sure why.

She rubbed her arm where he'd brushed past — as if the imprint of him lingered on her skin longer than it should. As if some part of her had registered something the rest of her hadn't.

But the street was empty again.
And so she kept walking.
The rain swallowed her footsteps behind her.

Neither of them looked back.
Neither of them knew.

But something had been set in motion that night.
A thread pulled. A match struck.

And years later—
when they saw each other again,
it would burn like it had never stopped.