Lena had always believed in love, but she never expected to find it in the middle of a rainstorm. That evening, as she hurried down the cobblestone streets of Paris, raindrops clung to her hair, and her breath came out in soft clouds. She had forgotten her umbrella in a rush, and just as she was about to run for cover, a deep voice called out.
“You’re going to catch a cold like that.”
She turned to see a man holding out his umbrella. His dark eyes held a quiet warmth, and his smile was enough to chase away the chill of the evening. “I don’t mind the rain,” she replied with a playful smirk, but before she could protest further, he stepped closer, shielding her beneath his umbrella.
They walked together, their steps in sync, the sound of raindrops filling the silence between their words. His name was Adrian, a pianist who had just finished playing at a small café nearby. Lena listened as he spoke of music, of love, of dreams he had yet to chase. And in return, she told him about her love for art, how she painted emotions she couldn’t express in words.
When they reached her doorstep, she hesitated, not wanting the moment to end. He must have felt the same because he handed her a tiny folded note before stepping back into the rain.
With trembling fingers, she opened it. A simple message was written in ink, delicate yet full of meaning: “Meet me where the music never stops.”
The next evening, Lena found herself outside the café he had mentioned. The soft melody of a piano drifted into the night, and there, sitting at the grand piano, was Adrian, playing as if he had been waiting for her all along.
Love, she realized, was like music—sometimes, the right melody found you when you least expected it.