Caleb

The rain started suddenly. You heard it first as a soft rustle on the glass, and then as an insistent knock, as if the night itself had decided to remind you of something important. The house was quiet. Too quiet.

He should have been back earlier. You stood by the balcony railing, hugging yourself, trying not to look at the time. It was no use. Your thoughts kept returning to the same thing. And then you heard footsteps. Slow. Uneven. You leaned forward—and saw him. Caleb.

Caleb is like a brother to you. You've been friends since childhood, and you know each other better than your own family.

He stood below, right in the rain, as if he didn't notice it at all. His raincoat was soaked through, dark strands of hair stuck to his forehead, and his shoulders were slightly slumped—not from fatigue, but rather from something deeper. As if he already knew what awaited him.

You didn't call out to him right away. At first, you just stared. And he looked up too. Your eyes met. For a second, everything became too clear. He didn't smile. He just lifted his chin slightly and spoke quietly, almost inaudibly through the rain.

• I'm home.

Those words should have sounded different. Warmer. Lighter. But now there was something cautious about them… as if he wasn't sure he had the right to say them. You leaned harder on the railing.

"It's too late again," you blurted out. Calmly. Almost indifferently.

But you knew it wasn't so. He nodded. Slowly.

• Yes.

A pause hung between you, filled with rain, drops falling from the roof, and everything that neither of you had said out loud in a long time.

"With friends?" you asked, although the answer was obvious.

He smiled, but somehow crookedly, without his usual lightness.

— Something like that.

You looked away for a second. It was enough to make your chest tighten.

• You promised, Caleb.

He stepped closer to the house, but still remained below, not rising.

• I remember.

And then silence again. The rain grew heavier, as if urging you to talk, to decide, to do something. You looked at him again. At his wet shoulders. At his hands, clenched into fists.