Chapter One — Emmanuel

The rain had always made Emmanuel restless. He liked how it blurred the world outside and made the indoors feel like a secret. He was never one to linger in cafés, but that day, the smell of coffee and the soft hum of laughter pulled him in.

He didn’t notice her at first. Not until his elbow caught the edge of her table, sending a half-full mug tumbling into her open book.

“God— I’m so sorry!” he stammered, grabbing a napkin, his fingers brushing against hers. Warm skin. Surprised eyes. A shy smile.

“It’s fine,” she said, voice calm like the rain tapping on the window. “It’s just coffee. And an old book.”

He laughed, relieved she wasn’t angry. She was pretty, but not in a loud way — there was something gentle about her, something that made him want to sit down and ask what she was reading before he ruined it.

“Let me get you another coffee. And a new book, maybe?” he offered, trying to hide the sudden thrill in his chest.

She shook her head, still smiling. “Just the coffee will do.”

That’s how it started. A simple accident, an apology, and a conversation that outlasted the rain.

When he finally asked her name, she said “Cynthia” like it was a secret she didn’t mind sharing.

And when she asked his, he almost lied — afraid of how easy it felt. But he didn’t.

“Emmanuel,” he said, offering her his real name, and maybe a little more than that.

Outside, the rain kept falling. Inside, something new began to grow — sweet, fragile, and doomed to fade before either of them knew it.

Chapter Two — Cynthia

Cynthia always thought rainy days were best spent alone. A cup of coffee, a battered romance novel, and a window seat to watch the world wash itself clean.

But today, the universe had other plans.

She didn’t see him coming — not until her coffee bled across the pages of her favourite book, and a flustered voice apologized a dozen times.

She should’ve been annoyed. Instead, she found herself smiling at his awkward charm, the way his hands fumbled for napkins as if he could erase the mess with enough effort.

“It’s fine,” she told him, her voice softer than she intended. Maybe it was the way his eyes held guilt and something else — curiosity, warmth, a question she couldn’t hear yet.

He insisted on buying her another cup. She let him. Maybe she liked the way he said her name when he finally asked.

Cynthia.

It sounded safe in his mouth. Like he wouldn’t hurt it, or her.

They talked about everything — music, books, dreams that seemed silly but felt real when he listened. She noticed how he leaned in when she spoke, like every word was worth catching before it fell.

When the rain stopped, she almost wished it hadn’t.

“Can I see you again?” he asked, voice low, hope hiding under casual ease.

She could have said no. She didn’t. She liked this feeling — the unexpected sweetness, the possibility dancing between them like sunlight after rain.

As she walked home, her ruined book tucked under her arm, she wondered if maybe — just maybe — this was how the best love stories began.

Chapter Three — The First Date

Emmanuel had never worried about first dates — until Cynthia. He spent twenty minutes in front of his mirror, wondering if his shirt looked too casual, or too serious, or if he even cared what shirts meant when all he wanted was to see her smile again.

He chose the café again — not the same one where they met, but one with warm yellow lights, soft music, and little corners that felt like secrets.

When Cynthia walked in, her hair still damp from the evening drizzle, he knew he’d made the right choice. She looked around, found him, and the way her eyes lit up chased away every doubt he’d dragged with him.

“You’re early,” she teased, sliding into the seat across from him.

“For you? Always,” he grinned, surprising himself with how easy it was to mean it.

They talked, and it felt like talking to an old friend, except every word tugged him deeper, every laugh stitched her a little tighter into his thoughts.

She told him about her childhood — the books she hid under her pillow, the songs she sang when no one was listening. He told her about his dreams — the job he wanted, the fear he’d never say out loud, the restlessness the rain always stirred in him.

Time slipped by unnoticed. Cups emptied, pastries disappeared. Outside, the city yawned into night. Inside, two people pretended the world had shrunk to just their table.

At the end, as they stood under the café’s tiny awning, the rain found them again — soft and persistent, like it knew they needed a reason to linger.

Emmanuel took her hand, half-bold, half-afraid. She let him.

“I had a really good time tonight,” she said, almost shy.

“Me too.” His thumb brushed her knuckles — warm, delicate, real. He wanted to kiss her, but didn’t. Not yet. Some things deserved to wait.

“Same time tomorrow?” he asked instead, hope clear in his voice.

Cynthia laughed, the sound of something blooming. “Same time tomorrow.”

And just like that, what started with spilled coffee and shy apologies grew roots, fed by rain and late-night promises neither of them knew would break someday.

Chapter Four — A Brother’s Doubt

Cynthia floated home that night, Emmanuel’s laughter echoing in her mind louder than the rain that dripped from her umbrella. She hadn’t felt this alive in months — maybe ever.

Her brother, Kola, was waiting in the living room. He sat on the old couch in a faded T-shirt, a frown stitched between his brows like it had been waiting just for her.

“You’re late,” he said, more statement than question.

“I’m not a child, Kola,” she shot back, but her smile gave her away — the happiness she couldn’t hide, even from his hard stare.

“Don’t start,” he warned, eyes narrowing. “Who is he?”

She sighed, dropping her bag and flopping down beside him. “His name is Emmanuel. He’s… nice.” She said it softly, like a secret still too precious to speak out loud.

Kola snorted. “Nice. Right. They’re always nice at the start.”

She hated how his words poked at her hope, planting tiny seeds of worry she didn’t want to water.

“Kola, not everyone is like—” She stopped herself. She didn’t want to say it. Didn’t want to drag old mistakes into something new and sweet.

“I just don’t want you crying again, Cynthia. You love too easy. You forgive too quick. And when it goes bad, who picks up the pieces? Me.”

His voice was sharp but his eyes — those tired, protective eyes — were soft in the way only a big brother’s could be.

“I know how to take care of my heart, Kola.”

“Do you?” He asked it gently, and for a moment she couldn’t answer.

She stood, kissed his forehead the way she used to when they were kids. “Trust me this time, okay?”

He didn’t nod. Didn’t smile. But he didn’t argue either.

In her room, she curled up under her blanket, phone pressed to her chest like it might carry Emmanuel’s warmth through the night.

She wished Kola could see what she felt: that this wasn’t a mistake. That this time, love would be enough.

She didn’t know yet how wrong she’d be.

Chapter Five — Miles Apart

Emmanuel hadn’t planned to tell her that night. But the offer burned a hole in his pocket all evening — during dinner, when she laughed at his jokes, when her hand brushed his under the table and made him forget every problem he’d ever had.

They sat under the stars afterward, a small garden behind the café where fairy lights tangled in the branches like lazy fireflies. She was humming softly, a gospel song she said reminded her of home.

He almost kept the secret. He wanted one more night pretending everything would stay this simple.

But secrets had a way of poisoning the sweet parts. So he cleared his throat, eyes fixed on the sky instead of her face.

“Cynthia…”

She turned to him, half-dreaming. “Hmm?”

“I got an offer. For work.”

“That’s amazing!” Her eyes shone — the way they always did when he shared good news. Her hope for him felt bigger than his own.

“It’s… abroad. Canada. They want me there for at least a year. Maybe more.”

The silence that followed pressed against his chest. He didn’t look at her right away. When he finally did, the starlight caught the hurt she tried to hide.

“Oh.” It was just one word, but it sounded like a door closing somewhere far away.

“I didn’t plan it. It’s a huge opportunity. You know how long I’ve worked for this, Cyn…” He reached for her hand, but she was already pulling it back to her lap.

“I know,” she said quickly. Too quickly. “I know. It’s good for you. You should go.”

But her smile trembled. And in her eyes, he saw the question she didn’t want to ask: What happens to us?

“I’ll come back,” he promised, though a voice inside him whispered he couldn’t be sure. “We’ll make it work. We’re strong enough, right?”

She nodded, but her silence was louder than any goodbye.

Chapter Six — Goodbye in Slow Motion

The airport was a blur of goodbyes and promises. Cynthia stood by Emmanuel’s side, clutching his hand like it could anchor him to her. But she knew better — some distances couldn’t be held back by fingers interlaced.

“Call me when you land,” she said, voice steady, though her heart tripped over every word.

“I will. Every day. I promise.” He cupped her cheek, brushed away a tear she didn’t know had escaped. “We’re strong, Cynthia. We’ll make it.”

She wanted to believe him. So she nodded. She kissed him like it could bind him to her no matter how many miles stretched between them.

But when he turned and disappeared past the gates, something in her cracked — quiet, clean, final.

The calls came daily at first. Sweet. Laughing. Filled with plans of visits and ‘I miss you’ whispered across time zones.

Then the calls grew shorter. Then they skipped days. Then excuses came: I’m busy, It’s late here, Tomorrow, I promise.

Tomorrow didn’t always come.

Kola never said I told you so. He just held her when she curled up on the couch with her phone pressed to her chest, waiting for a ringtone that didn’t come.

One night, the truth arrived not as a fight, but as a quiet acceptance. Emmanuel called after two weeks of silence. His voice sounded far away — not just in distance but in something deeper she couldn’t reach anymore.

“I think…” he started, but she finished it for him.

“I know,” she whispered. And that was it.

No screaming. No begging. Just the soft sigh of a love that had bloomed too beautifully to survive the winter of absence.

A month later, Cynthia sat alone in her favorite café. The rain tapped gently at the window, a familiar comfort. Her brother’s words echoed in her mind — not as a wound, but as a lesson.

She still believed in love. She just knew better now how to guard her heart.

Outside, the world kept moving. Inside, she sipped her coffee, turned a page, and let the past slip quietly.