The Echoes of the rain.

Episode:4 when dreams touch reality

The door chimed softly again as the wind trailed in behind him.

Now standing fully in the light, he was even more of a contrast—slightly disheveled, like he'd just rolled out of a story himself. Hair tousled with a mind of its own. Shirt a bit wrinkled. Shoelaces untied.

And somehow, it all… suited him.

"Don't judge the mess," he said, holding up his hands as if surrendering. "I swear I usually look less like I've been chased by a herd of squirrels."

He smiled gently and said ."Hi I'm sorry... I just saw this place and walked in. I didn't expect it to be so beautiful.

Ruelle's lips parted,caught of the guard .. ."The bokstore"?

He smiled again." That too"

Ruelle blinked.

He leaned slightly closer across the counter. "Do you always look at customers like they've just crawled out of a novel?"

She frowned. "I wasn't—"

"Staring? You absolutely were." He grinned. "But I forgive you. I'm quite stare-worthy."

Ruelle opened her mouth to protest, but no words came out.

He chuckled. "I knew it. Speechless. That's a win for me."

Somewhere between flustered and amused, Ruelle folded her arms. "Do you always flirt in bookstores?"

He looked around dramatically. "Only the ones that smell like stories and have girls who look like chapters I want to read."

Ruelle rolled her eyes, but a small, amused smile betrayed her. "You're impossible."

"Exactly why I make a great mystery character." He winked. "I come with the plot twists "

Ruelle tried to steady her thoughts, but he was already moving—drifting through the aisles like he belonged there, fingers brushing the spines of books as if greeting old friends.

"So, do you work here?" he called over his shoulder, mischief in his voice. "Or are you just haunting the place like a pretty ghost with good taste in literature?"

Ruelle snorted. "I manage the front while my friend sorts the shelves. So yes, I work here. Ghosting is just my side gig."

He turned and gave a mock gasp. "A multitasker! How dangerously attractive."

She shook her head, biting back a laugh. "You should really consider dialing it down."

He tapped his chin, pretending to think. "Hmm… Nah. You see, this is how I make friends. Or enemies. Sometimes both. Depends on the lighting."

"Speaking of lighting," Ruelle said, eyeing the dusty bulb above him, "you might want to step back before that flickering one above your head completes its dramatic fall."

He looked up, took a careful step away, then turned to her, serious for a beat. "You just saved my life."

She raised a brow. "I did not."

"You absolutely did. And now, by all ancient bookshop laws, I owe you."

She folded her arms. "And what exactly do you owe me?"

He leaned across the counter again, grin returning. "A coffee. And a ridiculous conversation. Possibly involving talking cats and time travel."

Ruelle opened her mouth again to reply, but something flickered through her chest—like a shadow of memory, soft and fleeting. A face in rain. A voice whispering something she couldn't grasp.

She blinked.

He noticed. Just briefly. "You okay?"

"Yeah," she said quickly. "Just… dust."

But even she didn't believe it.

He offered a gentler smile this time. "Well, let me know if the dust gets too heavy. I've got experience… sweeping through forgotten places."

The way he said it sent an odd chill down her spine.

Before she could ask more, the bell at the door rang again.

Enna stepped in, arms full of books, pausing when she saw them. Her eyes narrowed, curious.

Ruelle straightened. "Enna, this is—"

"I never gave my name," he interrupted, smirking. "Yet."

He looked at both of them, gave a small, mysterious bow, and said, "But since I like the vibe here... call me Ash."

Ash turned to her, serious for once. "Or reappeared."

She frowned. "What?"

He grinned, brushing it off. "Nothing. Just a weird feeling."

He leaned forward again, clearly not done with his chaos. "So, should I leave my number on a bookmark or… directly on your heart?"

Before Ruelle could roll her eyes again, something shimmered beneath his sleeve.

He reached for a book dramatically, and his jacket shifted—just for a second.

Her breath caught.

A bracelet.

Worn on his left wrist.

Silver. Slightly old.

And unmistakably familiar.

Her heart skipped.

That bracelet…

She'd seen it before.

In her dreams.

In those strange, haunting dreams she never understood—where rain poured, whispers echoed, and someone always vanished into the dark.

That bracelet was always there.

But only in those dreams.

Her eyes stayed locked on it. On him.

Ash noticed her staring. "What? Do I have something on my face?"

She didn't answer.

He followed her gaze and looked at his wrist. "Oh. This old thing? Found it a long time ago. Feels like it's always been with me."

Ruelle didn't speak. Couldn't.

She looked again. Closer.

And whispered to herself, "That bracelet... I saw it... in my dream."

To be continued...