Chapter 5: Before the Rain Falls Again.

The night passed slowly. Michael could not sleep. He turned from one side to the other. The letters were still on the table. Isabelle’s words stayed in his heart. They did not let him rest.

When morning came, he sat by the window. It was cloudy. The sky looked heavy. Like it might rain again. He made a cup of tea and read one letter again. Then another. Each line spoke of love. Of waiting. Of pain. And yet, there was no anger in her words. Only longing. Only truth.

He took out his notebook and began to write.

> “You wrote to Henry. But you also spoke to me. I don’t know what I can give you, Isabelle. But I want to find you. I want to hear you speak again. Not on tape. But in life.”

Michael packed his bag and checked out of the guesthouse. He kept the letters safe in a folder. Then he went back to the Lighthouse Café. He wanted to speak to the woman there one more time.

She smiled when she saw him.

“Back again?”

“Yes,” he said. “I needed to ask something. Do you know where Isabelle went after she left the café?”

The woman thought for a moment. “I think she went to a place called Summerwood. It’s a quiet town. Not far from here. She said she wanted peace. A place with trees and no noise.”

Michael felt hope rise in him. “Thank you. Truly.”

He took a bus to Summerwood that same afternoon. It was a small, green town. The streets were lined with trees. Birds flew from one branch to another. The air smelled like flowers and wet leaves. He felt calm the moment he stepped off the bus.

He walked to a small café and showed the shopkeeper a photo of Isabelle’s old letter. “Do you know this woman? Isabelle Greene?”

The man looked at the letter. “Yes, I’ve seen her. She comes here sometimes. Lives in a cottage near the woods. But she does not speak much.”

Michael’s heart beat faster. “Do you know where the cottage is?”

The man pointed. “Follow the path behind the library. Walk until the road ends. Her house is the last one.”

Michael followed the path. The trees stood tall. The wind whispered softly. As he walked, the sky darkened. Drops of rain began to fall.

Just like in Isabelle’s letters.

He walked slowly. He wanted to run, but his legs felt heavy. His heart was loud. His breath was short.

Finally, he saw a small wooden house. Flowers grew by the door. A soft light glowed from a window. He stepped closer and knocked gently.

No answer.

He knocked again.

Then the door opened.

A woman stood there. Her hair was gray with a few dark strands. Her face had fine lines. But her eyes were soft. Familiar.

Michael took a breath. “Isabelle Greene?”

She looked at him. Her eyes searched his face.

“Yes,” she said softly.

“My name is Michael. I’m Henry’s brother.”

Silence.

Isabelle stepped back a little. She opened the door wider.

“Come in.”

Michael entered. The house smelled of tea and old books. There were shelves filled with notebooks. A small piano stood in the corner.

He sat on a chair. Isabelle poured him tea.

“Why are you here, Michael?”

He placed the tape on the table. Then the letters. Then the letter she wrote to Henry.

“I found these. After Henry died. I listened to your voice. I read your words. They touched something inside me. I wanted to find you.”

Isabelle looked at the letters for a long time. Her eyes became wet.

“I didn’t know he kept them,” she said. “I thought he didn’t care.”

Michael shook his head. “He cared. He just didn’t know how to show it. He was scared.”

She nodded. “I was scared too. But I waited. Then I let go.”

Rain fell outside. The sound filled the silence between them.

“You once wrote about me,” Michael said. “You said maybe I’d hear your voice one day.”

Isabelle smiled softly. “You always protected him. I saw that. You were kind.”

Michael looked into her eyes. “Would you… read something for me? One of your poems?”

She walked to a shelf. Picked a notebook. Turned a few pages.

Then she read:

> *The rain was soft, but my heart was loud.
> I waited for love to turn around.
> I thought it would come with a face I knew,
> But it came as silence, soft and true.*

Michael closed his eyes. He felt every word. Not just as sound, but as feeling.

When she finished, he opened his eyes again. “You still have your voice. And it still heals.”

Isabelle smiled.

They sat in silence. Two souls, shaped by time, connected by words.

The rain outside kept falling.
But this time, no one was waiting alone.