It had been raining for three days straight, the kind of relentless downpour that turned the village roads to mud and the air to mist. Katherine sat at her kitchen table, staring out of the window, watching the droplets race each other down the glass. A fire crackled in the hearth behind her, but its warmth did not comfort her.
On the table before her lay a single letter. The envelope was creased at the edges, the ink slightly smudged from having been carried for too long in the postman’s bag. Her name, written in a neat, familiar hand, stared back at her like a question she didn’t want to answer.
She hadn’t opened it yet. It had arrived the day before, slipped under her door by old Mr. Harris who delivered the post when the rain made the usual service impossible. She had set it aside, telling herself she’d get to it later. But even now, the next morning, it lay there, untouched, as though it might burn her if she dared to tear it open.
Katherine had always hated letters. They brought news, and news was rarely good. The last letter she’d received had been a formal notice from the hospital—her mother had passed peacefully in the night. She hadn’t cried then, nor since. There didn’t seem to be enough energy in her to produce tears. Instead, the world had taken on a muted, dreamlike quality, as if she were watching her own life from a distance.
The rain continued to pound against the windows, and the fire snapped loudly, startling her. She took a deep breath, forcing herself to reach out and pick up the envelope. It felt heavier than it should, as though the weight of the words inside was something physical.
Her fingers hesitated on the edge. What could it possibly say? She had no close family left, no friends who would send a letter instead of calling. And yet, here it was, waiting.
With a sudden resolve, she slid her finger under the seal and tore it open. The paper inside was thick, expensive, like the kind you might expect for an important document. She unfolded it slowly, the rustling sound oddly loud.
The letter was brief. Only a few lines written in the same neat script as the address.
“Katherine,
I’ve thought about you every day since we last met. There are things I should have said back then, things I should have done. I don’t expect you to forgive me, but I hope you can understand. I’ll be in the village tomorrow. If you’d like to talk, meet me by the oak tree at noon.
—J.”
Katherine stared at the words in disbelief. J. It couldn’t be. It had been years. Too many years. She stood abruptly, the chair scraping across the wooden floor.
The oak tree. That old, gnarled thing that stood on the hill at the edge of the village, where they used to meet when they were younger, before everything fell apart. She hadn’t been there in ages. It was where she had last seen him, on a day much like this, just before he left for good.
She’d waited for him then, too. Waited for hours, watching the road, hoping he’d change his mind, but he never came.
Now, he was asking her to meet again. After all this time.
Katherine paced the small kitchen, her thoughts racing. She had built a life without him. She had learned not to think of him. And yet, here he was, pulling her back with a few simple words.
She glanced at the clock. It was already half-past eleven. If she left now, she could make it to the oak tree just in time.
The rain showed no sign of stopping. But Katherine, with the letter clenched in her hand, grabbed her coat from the hook by the door and stepped out into the storm.
As she walked, the cold rain soaked through her coat, but she barely felt it. Her feet knew the way, carrying her along the familiar path, past the houses with their drawn curtains, past the churchyard with its leaning gravestones.
When she finally reached the oak tree, it stood just as she remembered—its thick branches spreading wide, offering shelter from the rain. And beneath it, there he was.
John stood with his back to her, hands in his pockets, gazing at the village below. His hair was streaked with grey now, and his shoulders, once broad and confident, had a slight stoop. He hadn’t heard her approach.
Katherine hesitated for a moment, the years of silence stretching between them like a chasm. Then, her voice came out, softer than she’d intended.
“John.”
He turned slowly, and when their eyes met, the past came rushing back, as though the years had never passed. For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then, quietly, he said, “I’m sorry, Katherine.”
The weight of the years unraveled as the rain continued to fall around them. They stood together under the oak tree, in the village where it had all begun, and where, perhaps, something new could start again.
Then, without warning, he stepped forward, closing the distance between them in two swift strides. His hands, warm and steady, cupped her face, and before she could say another word, his lips pressed into hers.
The kiss became a storm, fierce and unrelenting, washing away the distance, the pain, the regrets that had kept them apart for so long. It was a kiss that spoke of every moment they had missed, of every night they had spent apart, longing for the other. Katherine’s hands fisted in his shirt, pulling him closer, desperate to close the gap that had once felt insurmountable.
When they finally broke apart, both were breathless, their foreheads pressed together as they stood there shielded from the rain, clinging to one another.
“I never stopped loving you,” he murmured, his voice hoarse with emotion. “Not for a second. I tried to move on, but—”
Tears mixed with the remnants of rain on her cheeks as she looked up at him, her heart full and aching at the same time. “I thought I’d lost you forever,” she whispered. “I thought I’d ruined everything.”
He shook his head, his hands tightening on her. “We were both foolish. But we’re here now. You’re here. That’s all that matters.”
Katherine was overcome with the intensity of it all—the rain, the kiss, the overwhelming relief of being back in his arms. She had spent so long imagining this moment, but nothing had prepared her for the reality of it. The feel of his hands on her skin, the heat of him against her lips, the way his heart pounded against her own.
John kissed her again, slower this time. And as they stood there, tangled together, the world seemed to fall away. There was no past, no future—only the present, only them.
When they finally pulled apart again, John smiled down at her, brushing a wet strand of hair from her face. “Come with me,” he said softly, his voice full of the warmth and affection she had missed so desperately.
Katherine nodded, her body pounding with a mixture of excitement and nervous anticipation, remembering a happiness that before that morning had been forever lost.
