November rain always has a way of trapping someone. Nara watched the droplets slowly trail down the window of Renjana Café. The laptop in front of her was still on, displaying a novel draft with a deadline only three days away. How ironic, she thought. She had to write a story about sweet, perfect love, even though the unsweetened black coffee on her table felt far more realistic than all the chapters she'd typed so far. Ding.
The café's doorbell rang softly, bringing in the scent of wet earth and a whisper of cold wind. A man in a navy jacket stepped inside, shaking out his soaking-wet umbrella before placing it in the holder near the door.
Nara had no intention of looking up—until an achingly familiar baritone voice reached her as he gave his order to the cashier. "A hot Americano, unsweetened. And a cinnamon roll, if there are any left." Nara froze. Her fingers stopped dancing across the keyboard. She knew that voice. The voice she'd often heard in the corner of the high school library, the voice that always called her name in a flat tone yet somehow made her heart beat wildly out of rhythm. Arka. The man turned, scanning the room for an empty seat. The café was crowded, and there was only one chair left—directly across from Nara's table. Their eyes met.
The world seemed to hold its breath for several seconds. The low hum of conversation around them slowly faded beneath the sound of raindrops striking the roof.
"Nara?" Arka called softly. Both hesitation and surprise shone in his deep brown eyes. Nara tried to shape her face into the most normal smile she could manage, even as her hand tightened around her coffee cup. "Arka? Hi... It's been so long."
Arka walked over and pointed to the empty chair across from her. "Can I sit here? Everywhere else is full." "Oh, sure. Go ahead."
Arka set his black sketch bag beside the chair and sat down. A thick awkwardness hung in the air. Seven years. It had been seven years since graduation day—the day Arka had suddenly disappeared without a word, leaving a million questions in Nara's head.
"You... drink black coffee more often now?" Arka asked, breaking the silence as his eyes flicked toward Nara's cup. Nara gave a small, awkward laugh. "Occupational hazard. A novel draft makes my head feel like it's going to split if all I have with it is sweet tea. What about you? Do you still draw a lot?"
Arka didn't answer in words. He simply reached for his bag, took out a brown leather-bound sketchbook that looked well loved, and slowly opened it. "I do," Arka replied briefly. He looked straight at Nara. "In fact, I never really stopped."
Arka slid the sketchbook across the table toward Nara. Hesitantly, Nara took it. Page after page unfolded. Inside were no drawings of buildings or cityscapes like the ones Arka used to make. On every sheet of paper... there was a sketch of her. -Nara reading beneath the library tree. -Nara asleep at her desk in class, her hair tousled. -Nara laughing as she took shelter from the rain at a bus stop... And on the last page, the black ink still looking fresh: Nara, sitting in the corner of Renjana Café, watching the rain through the window. Nara looked up, her eyes colliding with Arka's warm, intense gaze.
"It took me seven years to work up the nerve to bring this sketchbook to you, Ra," Arka whispered, his voice carrying over the rain outside. "And it seems like today's rain really did mean to trap us here."