"I don't know why you're here, Clara," he whispered, staring at his hands. "I’m a sinking ship. Eventually, I’m just going to pull you down with me."

The rain continued to fall, but for the first time in a long time, the world didn't feel blurred at all.

Elias squeezed her hand, feeling the warmth through her glove. "Yeah," he whispered. "But it's okay. I'm with you."

Decades later, Elias stood in the same park where they had met. The bench was new now, made of polished wood instead of rusted iron. He was older, his hair a shock of white, but he still preferred the rain.

The years that followed weren't perfect. There were days when Elias couldn't leave the house, and days when Clara’s own bright spirit flickered under the weight of her own struggles. But the phrase became their anchor. When the hospital bills came, when the bookstore closed, when the world felt like it was spinning too fast—they would find each other’s eyes and say it.

Clara didn't offer a platitude. She didn't tell him he was wrong or that he was "stronger than he knew." Instead, she moved across the floor and sat right next to him, her shoulder pressing firmly against his.

He felt a hand slide into his—smaller now, more fragile, but just as steady. Clara, in a yellow raincoat that had seen better days, smiled up at him. "Still a bit damp," she remarked.