Discover with Saee

Waterfall series

The rain softened into a mist, the storm easing as quickly as it had come. But the storm between them lingered, quieter now, like the hush after thunder. They stood there, held in each other’s arms, as if letting go would tear open the wound again.

Her fingers unclenched from his shirt slowly, as if realizing only now how tightly she’d been holding him. His thumb brushed her cheek, wiping away a tear he hadn’t noticed falling. Neither spoke. The words would come later. For now, it was enough to feel, to be.

“I don’t know how to do this,” she whispered, voice small, unsure.

“Neither do I,” he admitted. His voice was rough, but his touch was gentle. He stepped back just enough to look at her, to truly see her. Rain had dampened the loose strands of her hair, darkened the cotton of her dress where it clung lightly to her collarbone. His gaze lingered there a moment too long before he forced himself to meet her eyes again.

“I don’t want to rush this. I don’t want to ruin it.” His words came out as a promise, though he hadn’t meant them to.

She nodded, swallowing hard. “I don’t want to lose myself in it. Not again.”

His breath hitched. “You won’t. Not this time. I swear it.”

The quiet between them wasn’t awkward. It was charged, but gentle—a space where two hearts tried to relearn each other’s rhythms. He reached down, hesitating, then took her hand. The simple contact grounded them both.

“Come,” he said softly, guiding her down from the veranda into the damp garden. They walked slowly, bare feet in the wet grass, the world washed clean by the rain. Fireflies stirred again in the trees, and the night air smelled of earth and possibility.

They said nothing as they made their way toward the old path that led beyond the guesthouse, toward the place where it had all begun. 

They left the guesthouse behind, stepping into the night’s hush, the rain-washed world glistening under the moon’s pale light. The path was faint, overgrown in places where wild grass and small shrubs had reclaimed it. The sound of the waterfall was distant, a soft promise in the dark.

They walked in silence at first. The only sound was the wet crunch of their steps on the softened earth, the occasional rustle of small creatures startled by their passing. The air smelled of rain, earth, and the faint sweetness of wildflowers that lined the trail.

The path narrowed as it climbed gently through the foothills. Trees arched above them, their leaves heavy with rain. The moonlight broke through in shards, illuminating patches of the trail, casting silver on the wet stones.

He kept pace beside her, always just near enough that their arms might brush, but not quite touching. The restraint between them was thick in the air — every shared glance, every moment their hands swung close, felt electric.

At one point, the path grew steeper, the rocks slick with moss and rain. She hesitated, searching for footing.

“Here,” he said quietly, offering his hand.

She hesitated, the weight of his gesture heavier than it should have been. But then she took it. His hand was warm, steady, his grip firm but gentle as he helped her up the slope. He didn’t let go immediately when they reached the top. For a heartbeat too long, their fingers stayed linked, before she gently drew hers away.

They continued, the trail winding higher, the air cooler, the trees thinner. The sound of the waterfall grew louder, closer. The land opened out, and they could see the faint silver line of water in the distance, tumbling down into the hidden pool.

She paused to catch her breath, and he did the same, hands on his hips, looking at her, not the view.

“Are you all right?” he asked, his voice low, rough with the weight of everything unsaid.

She nodded, but her eyes softened. “I’m not as fearless as I used to be.”

He smiled, small and sad. “Neither am I.”

They walked on, the final stretch over soft grass, the ground damp beneath their feet, until the trees gave way and the clearing opened before them. The waterfall spilled into the pool, quiet in the night, the surface of the water rippling with moonlight.

They stood at the edge, side by side, not touching, breathless from more than the climb.

“This is where it all began,” he said, almost to himself.

She closed her eyes, letting the sound of the water wash over her, steadying her heart. “Yes.”

And when she felt him near, his hand hovering at her back, she didn’t move away.

She stood at the water’s edge, arms folded, trying to contain the storm inside her. He was at her side, so close she could feel his warmth, his breath when he exhaled. Neither spoke. Neither moved. The silence between them stretched, fragile as spun glass.

And then she whispered, voice trembling: “Why did you really go?”

He closed his eyes, as if the question was a blade. “Because I thought I had no choice. Because I was a coward. Because I told myself duty mattered more.” His voice broke on the last words.

She stared at the pool, her heart pounding. “You could’ve let me in. I would’ve understood.”

“I know that now.” His hand lifted, hovered near her shoulder, then fell. “But I didn’t trust myself. I was afraid if I stayed, I’d never leave. And I thought I had to go—fix everything, be the son my father needed. And all I did was ruin the one thing I wanted to keep.”

His voice was raw, stripped bare.

She drew a shaky breath. The restraint that had bound her for days, for years, frayed. “You left me to pick up the pieces. You didn’t even give me a chance to say goodbye.”

“I hated myself for it every day.” He took a step closer, and this time, his hand found her arm, fingers light on her skin. “I still do.”

She turned then, slowly, finally meeting his gaze. The sight of him so close undid her. His eyes, dark and full of regret, searched hers, silently begging for something—absolution, hope, she didn’t know.

Her voice dropped, trembling between anger and ache. “And what now? You’ve said your apologies. You’ve opened the wound again. Do you expect me to just… what? Forget?”

“No,” he said, his thumb brushing her arm, his restraint slipping. “I expect nothing. I just couldn’t stay away. I needed to see you. To tell you I never stopped…”

The words caught. His hand slid down her arm, found her hand, fingers threading through hers.

“I never stopped,” he repeated, voice breaking, the last of his defenses gone.

Her breath hitched. She felt the dam inside her give way—the months, the years of holding herself together, of pretending to be fine. The space between them disappeared as she stepped into him, her forehead resting against his chest, his arms coming around her, strong, sure, desperate.

The tension shattered, not in frenzy, but in that fierce, quiet embrace, the kind that says I’m here. I’m sorry. I need you. His hands moved up her back, trembling slightly, as if he couldn’t believe she was real. She clung to him, eyes closed, feeling the steady beat of his heart, the warmth of him grounding her, undoing her.

Neither spoke. There was no need. The rain had washed the world clean; now, under the stars, they began to do the same for their hearts.

After a long, long time, she pulled back just enough to see his face. Her fingers lifted, brushing wet hair from his brow, lingering on his cheek.

“Don’t break me again,” she said, voice quiet but firm.

His hands tightened at her waist, his eyes shining in the moonlight. “Never.”

And this time, when his mouth found hers, the kiss was slow, tender, the meeting of two souls finally, finally letting go of all that kept them apart.