The rain came down in sharp, cold needles, soaking the earth and filling the air with the fresh scent of renewal. In the distance, a clock tower struck midnight, its somber chimes reverberating through the small town of Thomasville. The streets were empty save for the occasional flicker of headlights piercing through the darkness.
Lila Morgan stood at the edge of the bridge, her breath hitching as she stared down into the churning river below. Her fingers clutched the railing, the metal icy against her skin. She hadn’t planned to come here—at least not tonight—but something about this place always drew her in, especially when life felt too heavy.
Behind her, the world moved on. Houses with warm, glowing windows whispered of families gathered together, their laughter muffled by the storm. But for Lila, there was no home waiting, no one to call her name or pull her from the edge.
"That's a long way to fall".
The voice startled her, low and steady, cutting through the rain. Lila whipped around, her soaked hair sticking to her face. A man stood a few feet away, his hands tucked into the pockets of a worn leather jacket. His presence was both consoling and unsettling, like a melody she couldn’t place but swore she had heard before.
"Who are you?" she asked, her voice barely audible over the rain.
The man tilted his head, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Someone who’s been where you are."
Lila’s grip on the railing tightened. "You don’t know anything about me."
"You’re right," he replied, stepping closer. "But I know that look. The one that says you’re standing here because the weight of it all feels unbearable."
She turned back to the river, her pulse quickening. "I’m not here to talk."
"And yet," he said softly, "you haven’t jumped."
The silence that followed was deafening. Lila’s thoughts churned, matching the chaos of the river below. She hated that he was right, hated that his words cracked through the fragile armor she had built around herself.
"Why do you care?" she demanded, her voice sharp.
"Because someone cared enough to stop me once," he answered, his tone laced with something she couldn’t quite decipher—regret, perhaps, or gratitude.
As their eyes met, Lila looked at him then, really looked. His dark hair was plastered to his forehead, and his eyes, though kind, carried shadows that mirrored her own.
His gaze held hers for a moment longer than necessary, and in that fleeting instant, Lila felt seen.
"I don’t even know your name," she said, her voice softening.
"Caleb," he replied, his eyes fixed. "And you must be Lila."
She blinked, confused. "How—"
He shrugged, a ghost of a smile on his lips. "Small town. You’d be surprised how much people notice when you think no one’s watching."
She wanted to argue, to push him away, but the fight in her was waning. The rain had soaked through her jacket, and the cold was beginning to seep into her bones.
"Come on," Caleb said, extending a hand. "Let’s get out of here."
For a moment, Lila hesitated. The railing was still there, the river still calling, but Caleb’s hand was steady, a lifeline she hadn’t expected. With a shaky breath, she reached for him.
They ended up at a diner on the outskirts of town, its neon sign flickering against the night sky. Inside, the warmth was immediate, the air filled with the comforting aroma of coffee and freshly baked pie.
Lila sat across from Caleb in a booth near the window, her fingers curled around a steaming mug. She hadn’t spoken since they left the bridge, and Caleb hadn’t pushed her to. Instead, he watched her with a quiet patience that both unnerved and comforted her.
"Why were you really there tonight?" she finally asked, breaking the silence.
Caleb's gaze drifted out the window, to the dark street slick with rain. “Rain makes people remember things they try to forget.”
She looked down at her mug. “Like what?”
There was a pause, then: “Her name was Emily.”
Lila glanced up. Caleb didn’t elaborate. His fingers tightened slightly around the ceramic. “She was the kind of person who left notes in library books for strangers to find.”
Lila tilted her head. “What did they say?” she asked, trying to ease the heaviness in his eyes. “All kinds of things. Sometimes just, ‘You’re stronger than you think,’ or, ‘This book was waiting for you.’ Stuff like that.”
“I would’ve liked her,” Lila said quietly.
Caleb nodded. “Yeah. She would’ve made you tea and read your palms, even if she didn’t believe in it.”
Lila smiled again, a little fuller this time. “I used to write letters I never sent. Like, to my dad, or to nobody.”
He leaned forward slightly. “Do you still?” She shook her head. “Stopped when it started feeling pathetic.”
“It’s not,” Caleb said. “Sometimes pretending someone’s listening is the only thing that gets you through the day.”
That landed harder than she expected. Lila took a sip, buying herself time.
“When did she...?”
“Two years ago. Car crash. Drunk driver.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I used to want revenge,” he said plainly. “Now I just want to sleep through the night.”
She nodded, absorbing that. “I didn’t mean to end up there tonight,” she admitted, her voice quieter now. “I was just driving. Then the bridge was there and I—”
“You stopped.”
“Barely.”
“But you did,” he said.
They sat in silence again. Outside, the rain had slowed to a drizzle. Inside, the waitress refilled their cups without asking.
Lila glanced at him. “Do you think... people ever really heal?”
Caleb didn’t answer right away. “I think healing isn’t something you finish. It’s something you carry.”
She looked out the window, her breath fogging the glass. “Then maybe I’m just tired of carrying.”
His eyes found hers. “Then maybe it’s time someone helped you hold it.”
The weight of his words hung between them, heavy and unspoken.
"I didn’t plan to..." she began, her voice trailing off.
Caleb’s voice was quiet. "You were just tired of holding it all in."
She nodded, staring down at her coffee. "It’s like... there’s this void. And no matter what I do, it just keeps growing."
Caleb leaned forward, his eyes searching hers. "I know it feels that way now, but it doesn’t have to stay that way."
Lila looked at him, a flicker of hope stirring beneath the surface. "How do you know?"
"Because I’m still here," he said simply. "And if I can make it, so can you."
The conversation stretched into the early hours of the morning, weaving through topics both painful and mundane.
By the time they left the diner, the rain had stopped, and the first hints of dawn painted the sky in soft hues of pink and orange. The wet asphalt reflected the neon glow of the diner sign, casting a shimmering light on Lila's tired face.
"Thank you," Lila said, her voice raspy from unshed tears, as they stood by her beat-up sedan.
"For what?" Caleb asked, his expression curious, a gentle furrow in his brow. He pulled his jacket tighter against the morning chill, his gaze unwavering.
"If it weren't for you, I'd probably be at the bottom of the river. " she replied, her voice trembling, the words barely a whisper. She clutched her purse tightly, her knuckles white.
He smiled, a genuine warmth in his eyes that crinkled the corners. "You don’t owe me thanks. Just... take care of yourself, alright?" She offered a faint smile, the kind that didn’t quite reach her eyes. "Still. I mean it."
As he turned to leave, she noticed the edge of a tattoo peeking from beneath his sleeve, a small compass, the needle pointing north. Something about it tugged at her memory, though she couldn’t place why. She paused, watching him disappear into the soft light of morning. As she drove away, her thoughts lingered - not just on what had happened, but on him. Who was Caleb, really? And why did that compass feel so familiar?