Rain always had a way of pulling Ginny into memories.
She sat by the window, watching as the droplets raced each other down the glass in uneven trails. The world outside was gray and soft, the kind of day where the air felt heavier, thicker, like it carried the weight of all the unsaid things.
She thought of Evie, as she always did when the rain fell.
Back then, if Ginny so much as mentioned wanting something warm to drink, Evie would perk up like it was some grand mission.
"Stay here," she'd say, grabbing the umbrella by the door, her voice always firm despite the grin she wore. "I've got it."
