Emma hated the rain. It ruined her hair, drenched her favorite shoes, and made the streets smell funny. Yet today, standing under the awning of a tiny café, she found herself… waiting. A man approached, soaking wet, holding a crumpled piece of paper. Their eyes met, and he smiled awkwardly. “I think this is yours,” he said, handing over the note. Emma unfolded it. It read: "If you’re standing under the awning by the café, I’ve been hoping to meet you. —A" Her heart skipped. She didn’t know him, yet somehow, this felt familiar. “I… I wrote that?” he stammered. “I wasn’t sure you’d come.” Rain poured harder, but neither moved. For the first time in years, Emma didn’t mind getting wet. Because some storms… were worth standing in.