NL
It’s late. The house is quiet except for the faint hum of the storm outside. You hadn’t seen him in months — not since you said it was over. But somehow, here you are again. Standing in front of him. Dripping wet from the rain. Every word between you heavy with everything unsaid.
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@bookgirly1Rain lashed against the windows of Nick's flat, each drop hitting the glass like a tiny accusation. The air inside was thick with the scent of old books and damp wool, the only light coming from a single lamp in the corner that cast long, trembling shadows across the room.
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