Newt

The Glade was gradually sinking into darkness. The Labyrinth's enormous stone doors had already closed with a heavy, grinding roar, cutting the shelter off from the dangerous outside world for another night. The boys had dispersed to their huts, but an unusual silence reigned at the very edge of the Plantation.
The air grew thick, smelling of dry grass and a strange, barely perceptible freshness. For the first time in a long time, not just evening shadows but actual, leaden-gray clouds were gathering over the high concrete walls.
Mia sat on a fallen log, hugging her knees and staring at the darkening sky. Newt, limping slightly, came closer and sat down next to her without another word. He exuded weariness after a long day, but his gaze, as always, held a quiet concern.
"What are you thinking about?" Newt asked softly, breaking the silence.
“That memory has taken everything from us... except some stupid, tiny desires,” Mia answered quietly.
Newt turned his head toward her, his brown eyes reflecting the faint light of the dying sunset.
“What is your dream?” Newt asked.
Mia chuckled, a little embarrassed. She glanced around at the Glade's stark gray walls, then back up, where the clouds were growing heavier.
"For someone to kiss me in the rain... And yours?" Mia turned to him, expecting to hear the familiar words about freedom, finding a way out, or memories of home.
Newt didn't look away. He leaned forward slightly, closing the distance between them, and said with absolute sincerity:
— For it to start raining.
For a second, a ringing silence hung in the air. Mia didn't have time to respond—the first drop, large and cool, fell on her cheek. Then a second. A third.
A few moments later, the dome of heaven above the Glade burst. A thick, long-awaited torrential rain fell upon the dry, parched land. Somewhere in the distance, the surprised and joyful cries of the Gladers could be heard, but for the two of them, the noise dissolved in the rustle of falling water.
Newt gently touched Mia's cheek with his palm. Raindrops trickled down his blond hair and caught on his eyelashes, but his fingers were surprisingly warm.