---
title: "Story: “Tears in the Rain”"
description: "The rain keeps tapping at the windows while the kettle cools beside the cup. A door in the hallway won’t catch; it shifts a fraction when the hand withdraws. Damp marks darken the wall where they sit close but not quite together."
url: https://avelinemoorwen.com/tears-in-the-rain/
date: 2026-03-23
modified: 2026-06-04
author: "Aveline Moorwen"
image: https://avelinemoorwen.com/wp-content/uploads/tears-in-the-rain.webp
categories: ["Short Love Stories"]
tags: ["Sad Stories", "Short Love Stories"]
type: post
lang: en
---

# Story: “Tears in the Rain”

## Tears in the Rain

Tears in the Rain

The rain had been falling long enough for the house to start keeping it.

Not the sound, exactly. Something slower than that. It settled into the wood, into the narrow space where the window didn’t close all the way unless it was pushed twice.

Loretta had already pushed it twice.

Still, a thin line of water found its way in and darkened the paint along the sill.

She pressed her thumb there, once, as if checking for warmth.

The cup rested near her wrist. She had forgotten when she poured it.

In the kitchen, a chair leg dragged a little, then stopped. Clarence never lifted it fully, even though he knew which leg caught.

He came in without the cup he had gone to get.

“You left it,” he said, looking at the one by her hand.

She nodded.

“I know.”

He didn’t ask if she wanted another.

Instead, he stood beside the window, not looking out, just close enough that the damp edge of the sill touched his sleeve. After a moment, he noticed and moved his arm away, then wiped the spot with his hand, though it made no difference.

There was a small mark on the glass, just above where her head usually rested when she leaned back. A faint oval, cleaner than the rest.

He lifted his hand as if to wipe it, then didn’t.

Loretta followed the movement but said nothing.

From the hallway, the door stayed closed. It had a different color than the others—painted over more than once, the edges thicker, the frame slightly uneven.

When the house settled, that door answered a fraction later than the rest.

“You didn’t latch it last night,” she said.

“I did.”

She turned her head then, just enough.

“It moved.”

He looked toward it, not long.

“It always does when it rains.”

She did not agree.

The rain shifted, growing finer, almost like breath against the glass.

Clarence pulled the other chair closer, but not into place. It remained angled, as if he hadn’t decided whether to stay.

He rested his hand on its back.

“We could open it,” he said.

Not louder. Just different from the rest of the room.

Loretta’s fingers tightened slightly around the cup. She did not lift it.

“It’ll smell,” she said.

He nodded, though he hadn’t mentioned the smell.

A drop gathered at the edge of the sill, heavier than the others. It held for a moment, then fell, leaving a darker trace behind it.

He watched it more closely than he needed to.

“We used to keep it open,” he said.

She looked back at the window.

“For the light,” he added, after a while.

There was no light now, only the pale, even gray that made it hard to tell the difference between afternoon and something later.

The kettle clicked in the kitchen, though neither of them had heard it boil.

Loretta lifted the cup and drank. It had gone colder than before. She didn’t react to it.

Clarence finally sat down, the chair giving the same short, uneven sound. This time he didn’t adjust it.

Their shoulders almost met when he settled, but didn’t.

After a while, she shifted the cup slightly to the left, avoiding the damp mark her thumb had made earlier.

He noticed, and without thinking, placed his hand over the spot she left behind, covering it completely.

Neither of them looked at the hallway again.

The door stayed as it was.

The rain thinned, then returned, softer, as if it had moved further away without stopping.

Loretta leaned back, not quite touching the glass.

Clarence kept his hand where it was, even after the wood cooled beneath it.

Nothing in the house changed.

Not the door.
Not the space between the chairs.
Not the place on the sill where the water kept finding its way in.

Aveline Moorwen