Chapter Text
Oktober 6th.
The wind came first, a low sound that rattled the tree branches and curled around corners like it was searching for something. then the rain came, soft at first, just a whisper against the rooftops. Then harder until the world outside blurred behind streaked glass.
It was an autumn rain, the kind that soaked through coats and into bones, smelling of wet leaves and wood smoke. The trees half-naked now, shivered in the wind, their view remaining leaves clinging like forgotten promises. The street was quiet, except for the rhythmic tapping of rain on pavement and the occasional hiss of tires passing through shallow puddles.
Inside Anna sat cross-legged on the worn desk chair, a half finished mug of tea cooling besides a stack of open textbooks. The yellow glow of a desk lamp, softened the edges of the room, but couldn’t quite push away the gray light pressing in through the windows. Her hoodie sleeves were pulled over her hands and she chewed absentmindedly on the end of her pencil as she stared at the same paragraph for the third time.
Outside the storm whispered and clawed, but inside was still, save for the scratch of her pencil on the paper and the quiet hum of her laptop. She hadn’t spoken a word in hours, but somehow the day felt full, with weather, with quiet and with the slow, steady passage of time.
A floorboard creaked somewhere below, followed by the familiar shuffles of slippers on old wood. Anna didn’t look up right away, her eyes still tracing the line of her notes, though her thoughts had already drifted, tugged by the scent of something warm and familiar wafting up the stairs. Garlic, maybe? Or rosemary? Something her mother always made when the weather turned mean. Then came her father’s voice, low and steady, echoing just enough to carry through the quiet house.
‘’Anna. Dinner’s ready, come eat with us before your brothers start a war over the last roll!’’
She smiled to herself, setting her pencil down with a sigh. The rain still whispered against the windows, a soft steady rhythm like a lullaby for the world outside. Inside, though, the house as alive, happy. Muffled laughter rising from the kitchen, the clang of silverware, the scrape of a chair being dragged out too loudly.
She got up slowly, stretching the stiffness from her legs, her hoodie sagging at the elbows, her tea now gone completely cold. Downstairs, the clatter of plates and the low hum of family life pulled her from the quiet cocoon of study and solitude.
The storm could keep raging outside, here there was light, warmth and the sound of her little brother yelling something about mashed potatoes. The stairs creaked under her feet, each step warmed by the smells growing stronger: roasted vegetables (her favorite), something buttery and the faint sweetness of whatever her mom had probably baked last-minute, as she always did when rain settled in. The voices grew clearer too, her dads calm voice, her mom’s laugh and her brothers arguing over who’s got more soda like it was a matter of national importance.
The dining room glowed in a soft, amber light, the lamp humming faintly above the worn wooden table that had seen everything. From birthday cakes to spilled science projects. Now it was laid out with steaming dishes, mismatched napkins and a basket of rolls wrapped in a kitchen towel still warm from the oven.
‘’About time’’ her younger brother said with a grin, already reaching for another rolls. Anna slid into her usual seat, across from her dad and between the boys, who immediately began arguing over the last pieces of meat. Her mom shook her head fondly and passed her the serving spoon.
Outside, the rain still tapping against the windows, but inside was all laughter and clinking silverware, the scrape of chairs and the warmth of shared stories between bites. Her dad asked her how school was going, her mom looking at her dad like she always did, smiling. And one of the boys made a joke so ridiculous they all burst into the kind of laughter that makes you forget whatever stress you carried into the room.
It wasn’t perfect, someone spilled their drink and the salt got knocked over, but it was real. It was home.