It was a downpour that trapped them both in the old bookstore’s corner. Lila’s canvas shoes squelched as she ducked under the awning,爽⋯躁多水⋯快⋯麻花 clutching a waterlogged copy of "Pride and Prejudice." Then she saw him—Ethan, his dark hair plastered to his forehead, sketchbook open on the table, pencil poised like he’d just caught a fleeting moment. His eyes met hers, and for a breath, time stood still.

“Sorry—did I take your seat?” Lila asked, her voice trembling. The café’s hum felt distant, as if the world shrank to their two hearts and the patter of rain outside.

Ethan smiled, a faint dimple creasing his cheek. “Not at all. The only rule here is no rush. Mind if I join you?” His question hung in the air, gentle as the drizzle. Lila nodded, her pulse thrumming in rhythm with the rain.

They spent the afternoon sketching in silence, Lila tracing Elizabeth Bennet’s silhouette, Ethan capturing the curve of her shoulder as she leaned forward. When the rain finally thinned, he handed her a crumpled paper: a tiny sketch of her, mid-smile, the bookstore’s dusty windows framing her face like a watercolor dream.

“I’ve been trying to find the right moment to ask if you’d let me keep drawing you,” he admitted, voice soft. Lila laughed, tears pricking her eyes. “Only if you promise to draw the day we first met—with the rain, and the sketchbook, and… you.”

That evening, as they walked out, sharing an umbrella and a shaky promise to meet again, Lila thought: some stories aren’t written in words. Sometimes they’re just ink on paper, raindrops on skin, and a heart that beats faster when someone sees you—and sees you not as you are, but as you might be.