Kai sits at the table, her fingers tracing the rim of her warm cup as she watches the raindrops race down the window. The room is soft with the light of the cloudy afternoon, the walls adorned with photographs her father has taken over the years. Some are neatly framed, others tucked into corners, waiting for the right moment to be displayed. The rain on the glass catches her attention again, like tiny silver rivers of memories slipping by.
From the other room, her father hums the melody—a soft, familiar tune that Kai knows well. It’s the same song he hums when he’s deep in thought or working in the garden. She hears it when they drive to the store, sometimes when they clean the house on a Saturday morning, its notes rising and falling like a comforting rhythm. His voice blends with the rain, steady and gentle, like a memory just beneath the surface, one that she doesn’t quite remember when it started.
She takes a slow sip of her tea, the warmth of it spreading through her, and looks back at the window. Her thoughts drift as she watches the droplets race each other down the glass, unaware that they’re reflecting her feelings—like something that’s always there but sometimes hard to grasp.
Her father walks into the room, setting down his camera bag beside the table. He glances out the window before sitting down across from her. His hands rest on the table, warm and worn with the years, fingers tapping gently to the rhythm of his song. He picks up his cup, stirring his tea with the same steady movement.
“It’s a good day for slowing down,” he says, his voice quiet but firm, like he’s sharing a secret with the rain.
Kai nods but doesn’t say anything at first. She watches him, noting the slight furrow in his brow. He’s always thinking, always watching, like he’s capturing the world in a way that others can’t quite see. She wonders if that’s why he loves photography so much—because he can hold on to moments like they’re forever, even when time moves on.
“Do you ever feel like time moves too fast?” she asks, her voice almost lost in the sound of the rain.
Her father looks up, his eyes soft with surprise. For a moment, he doesn’t answer, just sits there, turning the question over in his mind. Then a small smile tugs at the corners of his mouth.
“All the time,” he says. “It feels like we’re always moving, like there’s something we’re trying to catch up to.” He takes a sip of his tea, looking down for a moment, like he’s weighing his next words. “But you know, some things stay with you. Even when time moves on.”
Kai glances around the room. Her eyes land on a photograph of the two of them in the garden, standing under his old red umbrella, the rain drizzling softly around them. Her father had taken that picture on a day just like this, when the sky had been heavy with clouds, but the air had smelled fresh with rain. She smiles softly as the memory of that day fills her, a moment caught in the stillness of a photograph.
“That picture…” she says, pointing to the frame on the wall, “I remember that day. It felt like the rain was going to last forever.”
Her father looks up at the photo, his face lighting up with recognition. “I remember,” he says, his voice a little softer now. “I think that was the first time I really noticed how beautiful the rain can be. It felt like the whole world was taking a deep breath together.”
Kai looks at the photo for a long moment, then back at her father. “It’s funny how we remember things differently. I remember the umbrella, but I don’t remember the rain being cold. I remember the way it smelled, though, like the earth was waking up.”
Her father smiles again, a quiet, knowing smile. “Sometimes, the smallest details are the ones that stay with you. We might forget the bigger things, but the little things—they’re the ones that hold the most meaning. Like that song I hum. I don’t always remember when I started singing it, but it feels like something I’ve always known.”
Kai takes another sip of her tea, letting the warmth settle in. The melody hums softly in the background, like a memory rising to the surface. She doesn’t need to ask why the song matters to him. She already understands.
“I think I get it,” she says after a moment. “It’s like the song is always there, even when we don’t notice it.”
Her father nods, his eyes thoughtful. “Exactly. And sometimes, when you need it most, it’s there to remind you that you’re not alone. Like the rain, or the photographs.” He leans forward, looking at the framed pictures on the wall. “They’re like little pieces of time that never leave you.”
Kai looks at him, the steady presence that’s always been there, even when time seems to slip by too fast. She smiles softly, feeling something warm settle in her chest. As the rain falls outside, the melody weaves around them, unspoken but understood.
“Time might pass,” she says, more to herself than anyone else, “but some things will always stay.”
Her father reaches across the table and gives her hand a gentle squeeze, and for a moment, everything feels like it’s standing still—just like the moments in the photographs, frozen in time but still alive, still with them.
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