The rain didn't let up.

It had been pouring for hours, a steady drizzle that seemed to seep into everything—my clothes, my thoughts, and the strange, unease I couldn't quite shake. I had thought that spending time in a new place would give me clarity. I had imagined that walking away from everything I knew would offer some sense of peace, a way to reset, to put my life on pause and figure out what came next.

But the longer I stayed in this tiny town, the more it felt like I was simply running away, hoping the rain would wash away all the mess I had left behind.

I had spent the entire morning and most of the afternoon in the bookstore, hidden among the shelves and the dust, flipping through novels that were far more comfortable to immerse myself in than my own thoughts. The rain outside had created a sort of cocoon around me, a protective barrier between myself and the rest of the world.

Still, there was something about today that felt different.

I couldn't stop thinking about Max.

I hadn't expected him to make such an impression on me. After all, we'd only exchanged a few words, and yet, there was something about the way he spoke to me—so easy, so natural—that left me feeling... well, a little more seen than I was used to. And I didn't know what to do with that.

There was a quietness to him that matched my own, but there was also something else. An ease that I didn't have. Max wasn't the kind of person who seemed to worry about where he belonged. He just... existed. And that was both comforting and terrifying at the same time.

I had spent so many years questioning where I fit, wondering if I was ever going to find a place where I could simply be. I had convinced myself that I was fine on my own—that I didn't need anyone, that being alone wasn't the same as being lonely. But after meeting Max, I wasn't so sure anymore. He had this way of making me feel... alive. Or maybe, for the first time in a long time, I realized how much I'd been holding myself back. How much I'd been hiding.

I was still trying to figure out if it was a good thing or a dangerous thing to be around him. I had enough experience to know that feeling drawn to someone didn't always lead to good outcomes.

But I didn't want to think about that. Not yet. Not while I was still here.

The bell above the door jingled, snapping me out of my thoughts, and I turned instinctively, expecting to see an elderly woman looking for a new mystery novel or a couple of teens hanging out by the YA section. Instead, it was him—Max—walking through the door like he owned the place.

For a moment, I felt a strange flutter in my chest, like I had forgotten how to breathe.

I was startled, mostly by how unexpected it was to see him again. I hadn't expected him to show up, not really. He was probably just here for his usual routine. But still, there he was, looking as effortlessly cool as before.

Max didn't look at me immediately; instead, he walked to the back of the store, past the poetry shelves, where a small group of tourists was rummaging through travel guides. I felt a pang of disappointment at the thought that he might just come in, grab whatever book he was after, and leave without acknowledging me at all.

But then, after a minute or two, I heard his voice again. Low and casual. "Back again, huh?"

I looked up, meeting his eyes for the first time since earlier that day.

"I guess so," I replied, trying to sound more confident than I felt. My heart thudded a little faster. "I mean, it's one of the few places to hide out on a rainy day like this."

He smirked, a half grin playing at the edges of his mouth. "I get that."

His casual demeanor helped calm the flutter in my chest, though it still lingered. I found myself wondering if he'd say something else, or if he was just making polite small talk.

"Did you find anything interesting?" he asked, nodding toward the books in my hands.

I glanced down, suddenly self-conscious. I had been skimming through the same novel for the past half hour, unable to focus on the words for more than a few sentences at a time. It wasn't the book's fault, of course. It was me, unable to keep my mind from drifting back to him.

"No, not really. Just... trying to distract myself."

"From what?"

I hesitated, then shrugged. "Life. Everything. It's complicated. Sometimes it helps to just get lost in something else."

Max tilted his head, the way people do when they're genuinely listening. I wasn't used to being listened to that intently, and it made me uncomfortable. "Yeah. I get that. You need something to get you out of your head."

I nodded, feeling a little exposed. It was funny—how could someone I'd just met understand exactly how I was feeling?

There was a silence, but it wasn't uncomfortable. Just... open, like a space we both could fill, but neither of us knew what to say next.

Finally, Max spoke again, breaking the stillness. "You know, if you're just looking to escape for a bit, there's a little café down the street. Best coffee in town."

I looked at him, surprised by the invitation.

"You're trying to get me out of the bookstore?" I asked, half teasing, half uncertain.

"Maybe," he said with a small laugh. "I mean, it's rainy and depressing out there. Why not take a break?"

I stood there for a moment, weighing his offer. On one hand, I could turn him down, go back to my little corner of the bookstore, and continue pretending I was fine on my own. On the other hand, I was so tired of pretending. I was so tired of being alone in my thoughts, in my head. Maybe just one conversation outside the walls of this little shop wouldn't be so bad.

"Alright," I said, surprising myself. "I'll take you up on that coffee. But I warn you, I'm terrible company when I haven't had caffeine."

Max grinned. "Good thing I'm an expert at making bad company fun."

For the first time in days, I found myself smiling—a real smile, not just the kind I put on for show. Maybe this was what I had been missing all along: the kind of connection that felt easy, effortless, and, for once, not so complicated.

I followed him toward the door, feeling a strange, but not unwelcome, sense of anticipation. Whatever this was—whatever it might turn into—I wasn't going to run away from it. Not yet.