“I’ll just be a minute,” he said, his voice low and rough, like gravel washed clean. “Looking for a book. On rain.”
Before she could try again, the bell above the shop door jingled. A wet, worn-out sound. Maya looked up. A man stood there, shaking water from his leather jacket. He was tall, with stubble and tired eyes that held the same grey as the sky. captions on rain
“It’s not a caption,” he said, tucking the book under his arm. “It’s just the truth.” “I’ll just be a minute,” he said, his