Rain-Kissed Reflections

The glass is cool against my nose, each drop a tiny world mirroring the gray outside.
He always said I had eyes like this weather— changeable, perhaps holding a storm within. He used to trace the curve of my jaw with fingertips just as gentle as these raindrops are.
It’s been months since he left, and the city still feels painted in shades of his absence. But sometimes, when the light is like this— muted, soft around the edges— I almost believe he might return. Almost.
I close my eyes, breathing in the scent of petrichor and something else... a lingering trace of sandalwood from his cologne. It's foolish, I know, to hold onto ghosts. But perhaps…perhaps some scents are worth preserving, even if they exist only in memory.
The world outside blurs, and for a moment, it’s just the rain, the scent, and the quiet ache of remembering.

Editor: Evelyn Lin