Chapter Text
Margaux Gibrael Cornell stood in front of the gallery’s door, staring out at the rain-soaked night. The evening’s successful exhibit had left her both elated and exhausted, but the downpour, rather than making her feel dreary, filled her with a strange sense of calm. It seemed to wash away the weight of her past, at least for a while.
As she stepped outside and opened her umbrella, her gaze fell upon a figure standing in the rain, just across the street. The tall silhouette, drenched and unmoving, seemed to be waiting for something or someone.
Gibrael’s heart skipped a beat. She wasn’t sure what it was, but the image struck her with an almost surreal intensity. The way the rain draped the figure’s long black coat, how her hair clung to her face, all felt eerily familiar. The stranger’s posture, soaked to the bone, reminded Gibrael of someone—a memory tugged at the edges of her mind, like a song she couldn’t fully recall.
“Soul?” she whispered, almost unconsciously.
The word slipped out, barely audible over the rain. And in that moment, the stranger looked up, her gaze locking onto Gibrael’s. The connection sent a jolt through Gibrael’s body, as if she had seen a ghost. But no—this wasn’t Soul. It couldn’t be.
She stepped forward cautiously, holding her umbrella higher to cover the distance between them. “Hey, are you alright?” she called, her voice more concerned now.
The girl—no, the woman—turned fully toward Gibrael, blinking as if pulled out of a deep reverie. Her face was pale, her lips slightly blue from the cold. She shivered but managed a faint smile as Gibrael approached, her eyes reflecting a quiet mixture of surprise and recognition.
“I’m fine,” the woman said softly, though her voice trembled. “I was trying to catch the exhibit before it closed.”
Gibrael blinked in surprise. “You… you came to see the exhibit?” she asked, looking at the woman’s soaked clothes. “You’ve been standing out here all this time?”
The woman shrugged lightly, though her body trembled again. “Yeah, I guess I lost track of time.” Her smile was brief, almost shy. “It’s kind of silly now that I think about it.”
Gibrael felt a pang of sympathy. There was something familiar about this woman—not just in appearance, but in the way she carried herself, the way her eyes seemed to speak volumes that her words didn’t quite convey. She felt an unspoken connection with her, and it unsettled her in the strangest way.
“Well, you don’t need to stand out here anymore,” Gibrael said, offering her a small smile. “You’re in luck. I’m the owner of the gallery. If you want, I can let you in to see the exhibit.”
The woman’s eyes widened in surprise, and for the first time, Gibrael saw a spark of excitement light up her face. “Really?” she asked, as though she couldn’t believe her luck.
“Really,” Gibrael replied, amused by the woman’s reaction. “Come on, let’s get you out of the rain before you catch a cold.”
She led the woman back to the gallery, unlocking the door and pushing it open. Warmth spilled out into the cool night air, inviting them inside. The woman hesitated for a moment, as if uncertain, but then stepped in, her soaked shoes squeaking lightly on the polished floor.
“Wow…” the woman whispered, her eyes wide as she took in the photographs on the walls. “This is incredible.”
Gibrael smiled to herself, feeling a surge of pride. “Glad you think so,” she said softly. “I’ll just grab something from my office. Make yourself at home.”
The woman nodded, still gazing around the gallery in awe as Gibrael disappeared briefly into her office.
When she returned, she found the woman standing in front of one particular photograph—a black-and-white image of a hillside bathed in moonlight. The woman’s fingers hovered just over the glass, as though she wanted to reach out and touch it.
“This place,” the woman murmured, her voice quiet, almost reverent. “It looks so familiar…”
Gibrael watched her carefully, something stirring in the pit of her stomach. It was a photograph she took at the rendezvous the night before Soul disappeared. The way this stranger reacted to the image felt so specific, so personal. Why this photo? she wondered.
“I took that one in my rendezvous,” Gibrael said carefully, trying not to sound too curious. “Not many people know about it.”
The woman’s expression remained distant, her eyes still on the photograph. “It’s breathtaking. It almost reminds me of this one place…”, the woman paused before she whispered “like Giralda,” almost to herself, the name slipping from her lips like a secret long kept.
Gibrael’s heart stopped for a moment. Did she hear it right? Giralda? If yes, how did the stranger know that name? Only those tied to its history, to Soul’s curse, would ever speak it aloud. Her pulse quickened, but she forced herself to remain calm.
“Sorry,” the woman said suddenly, turning away from the photograph as if shaking herself out of a trance. “This exhibit is exceeding my expectations, so far.” The woman recovered.
Gibrael smiled slowly, though her thoughts were racing. “Thank you.”
She handed the woman a dry coat she’d brought from her office—Soul’s coat, the one Gibrael hadn’t touched in months. The woman’s eyes lit up as she slipped it on, the fit nearly perfect.
“This feels… familiar,” the woman said with a soft smile, her eyes twinkling. She turned to Gibrael, holding her gaze. “Hey, thanks for this. You didn’t have to be so kind.”
Gibrael gave a light chuckle. “It’s not a big deal. I just couldn’t let you freeze out there.”
The woman accepted the coat gratefully, and they stood in silence for a moment, side by side, gazing at the photographs on the walls. Each image seemed to tell a story, capturing moments of beauty and longing. The quiet between them was easy, almost comfortable, as if they had known each other much longer than just tonight.
Finally, the woman spoke again. “You know, I never got to ask… how did you know my name? You did call me Soul earlier.”
Gibrael’s breath hitched. She had hoped the woman wouldn’t ask that. “Oh, that,” she said slowly, trying to think of the right words. “You reminded me of someone. Someone I used to know.”
The woman chuckled softly, her expression playful. “Someone special?”
Gibrael couldn’t help but smile, though there was a bittersweet edge to it. “Yeah, you could say that.”
“Well,” the woman extended her hand, her smile warm and inviting. “Azul Guevarra. You can call me Soul if you want?” her smile brightening, tone curious and playful.
Gibrael shook her hand, feeling the warmth of Azul’s touch seep into her skin. The handshake lingered just a little longer than usual, an unspoken recognition passing between them. “I’m Gibrael,” she said, her voice soft. “Margaux Gibrael Cornell.”
The woman cleared her throat and smiled, “I prefer being called Azul though. But I wouldn’t mind being someone special to you, Margaux.”
Gibrael let out a small laugh, surprised by how natural it felt to hear her first name from Azul’s lips. Usually, it felt strange to be addressed that way, but not tonight. Tonight, it felt right. She blinked, taken aback by how easily the conversation had shifted back to something light. Azul had a way of doing that—keeping things simple, easy, even when the moment carried a strange weight. It was disarming and comforting all at once.
As their handshake ended, Gibrael – no, Margaux felt something inside her shift. The feeling was all too familiar, like a melody she hadn’t heard in a long time. Without thinking, she closed the distance between them and pulled Azul into a hug. The action was impulsive, but it felt necessary—like she needed to hold on to this moment, to this person.
Azul chuckled in surprise but didn’t pull away. She wrapped her arms around Margaux, returning the embrace just as tightly. “Why do I feel like I’ve known you forever?” she whispered, her voice soft, filled with wonder. “Perhaps we met in another life?”
Margaux smiled against Azul’s shoulder, her eyes closing as the warmth of the hug surrounded her, filling her with a sense of peace she hadn’t felt in years. “Perhaps,” she whispered back.
Margaux held on to the warmth of the embrace, her face pressed lightly against Azul’s shoulder, feeling a quiet sense of comfort. The steady rhythm of rain tapping against the windows of her gallery felt distant, as if the world had faded into the background. She closed her eyes, savoring the moment, but the familiarity of it tugged at her mind—this wasn’t just the comfort of a stranger.
Slowly, Margaux pulled away from the hug, her smile soft yet unsure. “Sorry,” she said, her voice almost nervous, a light laugh escaping her lips. “I don’t usually go hugging strangers.”
Azul returned her smile, shaking her damp hair slightly as droplets fell from the strands. “Hey, no worries,” she said easily, her voice warm. “Sometimes, a hug’s just what you need. Besides, I think we both felt it.”
Margaux’s breath caught for a second. Felt it? She wanted to ask what Azul meant, but stopped herself. The sensation that something larger than this moment had just happened between them was too strong. The brief connection felt old, as if it reached beyond them, beyond this life.
“You were standing in the rain for a long time,” Margaux finally said, shifting the conversation as she gestured to the pouring rain outside. “You shouldn’t go back out in this. Why not stay until the rain slows?”
Azul glanced outside briefly, then gave a playful grin. “I kind of like the rain, actually. Weird, I know.”
“Not weird,” Margaux replied, her tone softening. “I find it calming too.”
Azul’s eyes sparkled, and she raised an eyebrow as if impressed. “You really get it, don’t you?” She wandered a few steps forward, admiring the photographs lining the gallery’s walls. “The rain always makes me feel… like I’m on the edge of remembering something important.”
Margaux watched her closely, trying to keep her expression neutral, though Azul’s words struck something deep inside her. She knew that feeling well—the quiet tug of forgotten memories, things just out of reach.
They talked more as the night wore on, about life, art, and their mutual love of rainy nights. Azul was animated, full of life, and her easygoing nature made Margaux feel at ease in a way she hadn’t in years. But under it all, there was that persistent feeling that there was more to Azul—something hidden, waiting to surface.
As the rain continued, Azul glanced out the window and sighed. “Looks like it’s not letting up anytime soon.”
Margaux nodded, though a small part of her was glad it wasn’t. “You probably shouldn’t walk back in this.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” Azul admitted, “but I’m just a few blocks away. I’ll manage.” She flashed a grin, but it was softer this time, less playful.
“At least take my umbrella,” Margaux said, offering it to her. “I have another one here.”
Azul hesitated for a moment, then took the umbrella with a nod of thanks. “You’re too kind, Margaux. I’m not sure if I’ve met anyone who’s this nice to someone they’ve just met.”
“Well,” Margaux said with a smile, “I’m not sure I’ve met anyone who reminds me of someone else so strongly.”
Azul chuckled softly, her eyes locking with Margaux’s for a brief second. “Maybe that’s a sign we’ll meet again.”
“I hope so,” Margaux whispered under her breath, almost wishing the words back as soon as they slipped out.
Azul stood at the door for a moment longer, as if reluctant to leave. “Next time, I’ll try not to miss the exhibit before it closes.”
“You’d better,” Margaux replied, her heart fluttering at the idea of seeing her again.
With a final smile, Azul stepped out into the rain, the umbrella shielding her from the worst of the downpour. Margaux watched as she disappeared down the street, her silhouette fading into the misty, rain-soaked night. There was something about the way Azul walked away that stirred something deep in Margaux’s chest—a pull she couldn’t quite explain.
As the rain drummed softly against the windows of the now-empty gallery, Margaux whispered to herself, “Perhaps we really have met before, Azul.”
And with that, she turned back inside, closing the door behind her, the unanswered questions lingering like the rain outside.