Ink and Water

When they were together, it would always disrupt the entire movement of the earth. They ran out of the bar into the rain, making bad decisions one at a time. The city had been loud that night, neon lights pulsing across puddles, the sound of laughter echoing throughout. The rain stuck to their hair and skin like honey.

They ended up at a tattoo parlor just before closing. The air smelled faintly of ink and cleaning solution. Flipping through the pages of the book they received, every small decal was promising. Tiny anchors, constellations, flowers fading into smoke. They reached the last few pages and landed on a small infinity symbol. They both decided to match, and tattooed it on their wrist. To an endless friendship, they cheered, raising invisible glasses toward a future they thought could never unravel.

Today, the rain came. She wondered if it would ever stop finding her. It wept past her, through her, like she was made of cotton. It came in waves, the first pour small and delightful against her warm bronze skin. Then came the heavy rain, and her umbrella couldn’t even hide it away.

She pretended not to feel it, holding her umbrella tight against her chest like a shield. The sound of the storm drowned the city’s usual noise, replacing car horns with the constant hush of water on concrete. She ran inside the first store she saw, a tiny rustic bookshop tucked between a bakery and a florist.

She was welcomed as soon as she entered, quickly closing her umbrella as it made a circular splatter on the wooden planks beneath her. The scent of cinnamon and pastries drifted in faintly from next door, mingling with the musk of old paper. The walls were lined with bookshelves, greeting her and sparking her curiosity. There was hardly any space to move around. The rest of the room was filled with writing desks, most empty, with the occasional focused reader, head bowed as if in prayer.

She moved quietly through the narrow aisles, the floor creaking beneath her boots. She held her umbrella low, afraid of ruining any of these perfect pieces of literature. Her hand brushed along the shelves, fingertips grazing delicate spines, titles she’d never read, authors she used to love but no longer reached for.

She only stopped once she felt a spark of electricity, the kind that comes not from static but memory, the only thing she usually felt these days.

The book she pulled down was old, its cover softened by years of touch. It wasn’t one she recognized. She flipped it open and let the pages fall where they wanted, stopping somewhere near the middle. A small pressed flower was trapped between the words. Its petals had browned and curled inward, fragile as dust. She thought of the tattoo again, how fresh the ink had looked on her skin, how sure they had both been.

She ran her thumb along her wrist now, hidden beneath her sleeve. The faint ridge of the infinity symbol sat there like a scar that refused to fade. For a moment she imagined her best friend beside her, laughing, whispering some small thing to make the world feel lighter. She almost turned her head, expecting her to be there.

But the space beside her stayed empty.

She grabbed a seat near the window, setting the book beside her. The rain outside drummed gently against the glass. The view was soft and gray, the street below blurred by motion and mist. People hurried past with umbrellas blooming like dark flowers. Families ducked under shared covers, their laughter cutting briefly through the storm.

She liked being alone, but she also craved the feeling of people, the quiet reassurance of proximity. This felt like a happy medium, near enough to feel the pulse of the world, far enough not to have to join it.

She read a few pages, but her focus slipped often. Her eyes wandered. Across the street, two children splashed through puddles while their father shouted half-heartedly, a grin pulling at his face. Inside the shop, a young couple leaned together over a notebook, whispering and smiling, their heads nearly touching.

She wondered what it was they talked about for so long, and how their conversations never seemed to reach an end. The parents’ smiles so loud, they looked exactly like their children, hopeful for a future, even if it was just with each other.

That’s something she could never wrap her head around. She always felt dread when with her family, and her friendships always met the same quiet end she knew too well. It was never sudden, just a gradual fading, like light slipping away at dusk.

She wished she knew how to keep it going. The same way an infinity was meant to never reach an end.

Outside, thunder rolled somewhere distant. The lights inside the shop flickered once before settling back into a warm, amber glow. She stared at her reflection in the window, the faint outline of her face blending with the rain outside. For a second, she couldn’t tell which side of the glass she was on.

A small child passed by and waved through the window. She blinked, unsure if it was meant for her or someone else. Still, she lifted her fingers slightly in return. The child’s grin widened before they disappeared down the street.

She smiled too, briefly, the muscles in her face remembering how.

Hours passed unnoticed. The book remained open on the same page, the inked words swimming beneath her gaze. Every so often, she glanced down at her wrist. The tattoo was fading. Maybe it had always been meant to.

She thought of the night they got it, how her best friend had clutched her hand, both of them pretending not to flinch as the needle hummed. Back then, she thought they were unstoppable.

Now, even remembering felt like trespassing on a past that no longer belonged to her.

She pressed her palm over the tattoo, as if to steady it.

The storm outside began to thin, the heavy drops giving way to a gentler drizzle. A faint brightness gathered on the horizon, not quite like sunlight, just a softening of gray. The bookshop grew quieter. She realized she could hear her own breathing, slow, deliberate, alive.

She told herself she liked being alone. At least that’s what she made herself believe. She could be in control. No one to judge her. No one to disappoint.

But somewhere along the way, she had stopped losing herself in her books, and all the different realities that once kept her safe.

Now, even her imagination felt still.

Everything just became quiet.

The kind of quiet that made her own heartbeat sound like a scream.