Rain-Kissed Echoes

The city bled grey, a bruise on the sky.
My skin still slick with it, clinging like regret. He found me huddled under that awning – the one smelling of burnt coffee and damp concrete. Didn’t ask if I was okay, just…he pulled out a worn towel, rough against my shivering shoulders.
Not gentle. Just *there*. Like a stone in a riverbed, solid enough to hold you steady.
My eyes kept flicking up to his – the way the streetlight caught the grit on his jaw, the quiet crease beside his mouth when he looked at me.
He didn’t say anything about needing shelter, or offering help. Just dried my hair with a deliberate slowness, his fingers brushing against mine.
It wasn't a grand gesture. Just the heat of that towel, mixing with the cold rain and something…else. Something like recognizing a lost piece of yourself finally finding its way back to you.
I didn’t move. Didn't pull away. Let him hold me in the grey, let the city wash over us both, soaked and silent.
And for a moment, it felt enough.

Editor: Street-side Poet