It's been raining for weeks, now. 

Hannah settles into her window seat, a cup of cocoa in her hands. An old book of memories sits on her set-aside lap-desk, flipped open to photos of old loves and old conquests. That foxgirl with the ears. The mousy girl with the glasses. 

They're fond memories. 

She taps her nails against her mug, tik-tik-tik, and listens to the rain. 

She's bored. It's been raining for weeks and her wife is out of the house on a business trip and she's drifting without her. 

The mug warms her fingertips against the chill coming off the window, and the rain pitter-patters off the glass. 

It feels like she's lost something. 

She pulls her phone out of her pocket, settles it in her hands. 

ILY, she types. Love, can we talk?