“The Umbrella Under the Olive Tree”It was raining in the little seaside town the day they met — the kind of rain that makes windows glow and every street look like a watercolor painting.She ran into the small café near the harbor, hair damp, breaths fast — searching for shelter.He was already there, sitting quietly at the corner table by the window, a notebook open, a cup of coffee untouched because he had been watching the rain instead of drinking it.She apologized for dripping water everywhere.He smiled.“Rain makes everything more honest,” he said.She laughed. She stayed.They talked that evening like