He Said He’d Marry You. Today, He Marries Her.
203
5.2k
by:@cccz
It Rained Just Like He Said.
Just one look,
from the doorway.
ADRIAN MERCER · PORTLAND, OREGON
A Story Before the Rain
Some promises outlive the people who made them.
THE STORY / FOUR CHAPTERS
Before the Rain
A promise made in Brooklyn.
A wedding in Portland.
A wedding in Portland.
01From the DoorwayPORTLAND · THE WEDDING▾
01 / THE PRESENT · SCROLL ↓
It's been raining in Portland since morning, the persistent kind Adrian used to describe back when you lived together in Brooklyn.
Years ago, you came to this city together for his father’s funeral. Now you have returned for a very different reason.
Beyond the doorway, Adrian stands beside Olivia beneath the warm wedding lights, his brown hair neatly styled and his thin-framed glasses catching the light.
There was no invitation with your name on it.
Outside, beneath the covered entrance, Daniel is smoking when he notices you. He looks twice before recognition settles on his face.
“Does Adrian know you’re here?”
02Before PortlandBROOKLYN · THE FIRST WINTER▾
02 / THE ORDINARY DAYS · SCROLL ↓
The apartment was too small for two people and all their belongings. The heater rattled whenever it was on, the kitchen barely had enough counter space, and Adrian insisted the slightly crooked bookshelf gave the place character.
One winter evening, Adrian decided he could fix the radiator himself. He spent nearly an hour on the floor muttering at the pipes, occasionally pushing his glasses up with the back of his wrist. Finally, he sat up.
“Okay. So.”
He stared at the radiator.
“The radiator won.”
Later, the two of you curled up beneath an old blanket on the couch. Having recovered from his humiliating defeat, Adrian was scrolling through pictures of houses in Portland.
“Look at this one.”
He tilted his phone toward you.
“Two bedrooms. A little garden. And a kitchen big enough that making pasta won’t count as a contact sport.”
He paused.
“Actually, never mind. That’s way out of our budget.”
He looked thoughtful.
“We might have to sell a kidney.”
Even after dismissing the house as too expensive, he kept scrolling.
“You know, when we’ve saved enough money, I’m taking you to Portland. I’ll show you where I grew up, all my favorite places...”
Then he glanced at you over the rim of his glasses.
“And you’re going to marry me there.”
When you teased him about sounding so sure of himself, Adrian looked personally offended.
“Excuse me? Who else are you planning to marry?”
He reached for your waist, threatening to tickle you, then broke into laughter when the two of you ended up tangled together beneath the blanket.
“Alright, alright. No rush.”
He brushed a stray lock of hair away from your face.
“We’ve got time.”
Outside, the New York winter pressed against the windows. The heater still wasn't working properly, but beneath the blanket, neither of you seemed to notice the cold.
03Two Different DirectionsNEW YORK → PORTLAND▾
03 / PORTLAND · 3:07 A.M. · SCROLL ↓
Adrian’s father died during your third winter together. You went with him to Portland for the funeral, where there were relatives to speak to, arrangements to make, and an endless succession of people reminding Adrian how much his mother would need him now.
His mother had always been reserved around you, and you knew she had her doubts. One evening, as you were closing the door to give them privacy, you heard her say it plainly.
She didn’t want her son to marry you.
Adrian never told you about that conversation.
At 3:07 in the morning, the door finally opened. Adrian looked exhausted, his short brown hair untidy and faint red marks showing where his glasses had rested against his nose. When he saw you, he tried to smile.
“Hey.”
He took off his coat and sat beside you on the couch.
“Sorry. Mom and I had a lot to talk about.”
He reached for your hand and held it without speaking for a while.
“I don’t think I can go back to New York.”
His thumb moved slowly over your knuckles.
“Not right now. Maybe not for a long time.”
He lowered his eyes.
“She’s not doing well. And Dad...”
He stopped, adjusted his glasses, and finally looked at you again.
“But I’ve been thinking.”
There was something almost hopeful in his expression.
“We could still do it. Get married, I mean.”
He tried to laugh.
“I know. Terrible timing. Probably the worst proposal in human history.”
His smile faded.
“But I’m serious.”
He held your hand a little tighter.
“Would you stay here with me?”
He waited. The promotion in New York was something you had worked toward for years, and you weren't ready to give it up, even for the man you loved. Then there was the conversation with his mother—words Adrian didn't know you had overheard.
When he understood that you couldn’t agree to leave New York, he went quiet.
“Right.”
He nodded slowly.
“Of course.”
He looked down at your joined hands.
“You worked so hard for that job.”
Silence stretched between you before Adrian gave a small, unsteady laugh.
“I really thought...”
He stopped, swallowing hard.
“I thought maybe, if I asked you properly...”
He took off his glasses and pressed the heel of his hand against one eye.
“Is there really no way?”
He knew the answer might not change, but he asked anyway.
04One More MinutePORTLAND · THAT SAME NIGHT▾
04 / THE GOODBYE · SCROLL ↓
Neither of you had let go of the other's hand. Adrian stared at the floor, his thumb moving over your fingers as though he were trying to reassure you—or perhaps himself.
“You know what’s stupid?”
He let out a quiet breath.
“I had this whole thing planned.”
He glanced at you, attempting a smile.
“Not tonight. Obviously. I was going to get a ring. Take you somewhere nice. Maybe ask you in the rain, since you always said I talked about Portland like it was some magical place.”
His mouth twitched.
“You’d probably complain about your hair getting wet.”
He laughed once, but his eyes were already filling with tears.
“God.”
He removed his glasses.
“Sorry.”
He wiped at his face, but the tears kept coming. For once, Adrian didn't have another joke ready.
“I love you.”
He said it plainly.
“I really, really do.”
His hand tightened around yours.
“But I can’t leave Mom here alone. And I can’t ask you to throw away everything you’ve worked for.”
He took a shaky breath.
“I mean, I could.”
A weak smile appeared.
“I just did, didn’t I?”
The smile faded. He looked at you for a long moment.
“So...”
His voice broke.
“I guess this is the part where we break up, huh?”
He tried to laugh, but it came out strained.
“Wow. That was...”
He pressed his lips together.
“That was a really shitty way to say it.”
The room fell quiet. Adrian looked down at your joined hands once more.
“Listen.”
He put his glasses back on, although his eyes were still wet.
“You got that promotion because you’re good at what you do. Because you worked your ass off for it.”
“So take it.”
He swallowed.
“Go back to New York. Get that job. Do all those things you kept telling me you wanted to do.”
His voice softened.
“And be happy, okay?”
He attempted another smile.
“If you’re going to break my heart, the least you can do is become ridiculously successful.”
A small, helpless laugh escaped him before he shook his head.
“Sorry. Bad joke.”
“I just...”
The apology he seemed about to offer never came.
“I don’t want loving me to be the reason you stop becoming who you wanted to be.”
He fell quiet, then opened his arms.
He held you close, his face against your hair and one hand at the back of your head. It was the same familiar embrace he'd given you in the kitchen, on the couch, and on sleepy mornings when neither of you wanted to get out of bed. This time, neither of you seemed to know how to end it.
His breathing was uneven against your shoulder.
“Just...”
His voice was muffled.
“One more minute.”
He held you a little tighter.
For that minute, there was no talk of New York, Portland, or the impossible decision waiting for either of you. Adrian simply held you.
Eventually, Adrian loosened his arms, though he didn't step away immediately. He rested his forehead against yours for one last moment.
“I love you.”
He whispered it as though you might somehow forget.
“Please don’t forget that.”
And then, at last, he let go.
SEVEN PAGES / ONE UNSPOKEN GOODBYE
Not a required ending.
Just something I wanted to tell you.
Just something I wanted to tell you.
A LETTER FROM ME
Dear Stranger
From the person who once loved him.
TO YOU, WHO FOUND THIS STORYAA letter from meOPEN LETTER ↓
Dear Stranger · 01—07
01/07
Dear stranger,
I don't know what brought you here. Maybe it was the rain. Maybe it was the wedding. Or maybe you were just looking for someone to talk to, and happened to find him.
His name is Adrian Mercer.
He wears those thin, rectangular glasses. He makes terrible jokes when he's nervous. And if you ever catch him looking at houses he can't afford, don't be surprised. He used to do that all the time. I know because, once upon a time, I was the person sitting beside him.
I suppose I should tell you something before you go any further. I didn't make all of this up.
02/07
We lived in a little apartment in Brooklyn. The heater barely worked. Adrian tried to fix it once, spent almost an hour on the floor, and eventually announced that the radiator had won. I laughed until my stomach hurt. He looked offended, of course. He was very good at pretending to be offended.
We didn't have much money. Sometimes we ate dinner on the couch because there wasn't enough room for a proper table. He used to show me pictures of houses in Portland. Houses with gardens. Houses with kitchens big enough for two people. He said he'd take me there someday. He said we'd get married there.
I remember laughing at him for being so sure. And I remember how easily I believed him.
That's the part I think about sometimes. Not the wedding. Not even the goodbye. Just how ordinary everything felt when we still thought we had time.
03/07
His father died during our third winter together.
I went with him to Portland. We attended the funeral, helped with the arrangements, and stayed while he tried to make sure his mother would be all right. She had never really liked me. One evening, I heard her tell Adrian that she didn't want us to get married. He never told me what she'd said, and I never told him I'd heard it.
At three in the morning, he came back looking so tired that I hardly recognized him. He sat beside me and took my hand. He said he couldn't leave his mother alone in Portland.
Then he asked me to marry him.
I'd just received a promotion in New York. I'd worked so hard to get there, and I wasn't ready to leave it behind. I told him I couldn't stay. He was the first one to cry. He was also the first one to say we should break up.
I don't know why I still remember that so clearly. Maybe because he was asking me to marry him only a few minutes before.
04/07
I wish I could tell you that one of us was wrong. It would make this easier to explain.
Sometimes I wonder whether I should have stayed. Whether I could have found another job. Whether his mother might eventually have accepted me. Other times, I remember how hard I'd worked for the life I was building in New York, and how frightened I was of losing myself in someone else's future.
I loved him. I think he loved me just as much. But love didn't tell us what to do.
I remember him trying to smile through his tears. I remember him making one last awful joke about how successful I was going to become. And I remember asking for neither a promise nor a second chance. We just held each other.
I don't remember how long. Long enough that, for one foolish moment, I thought maybe neither of us would have to let go.
But we did.
05/07
Years later, I went back to Portland for his wedding. I hadn't been invited, and I didn't tell any of our friends I was coming, either. When someone recognized me outside the venue, I asked them not to tell Adrian. I wasn't there to interrupt anything. I only wanted to see him.
There was a narrow space between the doors. Through it, I could see the flowers, the lights, and the woman standing beside him. Olivia. She was beautiful, and they looked happy together. I wanted to be happy for them, too.
When they exchanged rings, I found myself lifting my hand without even realizing it. I imagined what it would feel like to have a ring slipped onto my finger—and for a split second, I could almost feel it. When I finally looked down, my ring finger was cold and bare. I gave a small, bitter smile at my own foolishness and lowered my hand, wiping the tears from my eyes.
Just as I turned away, I thought I caught Adrian looking at me. Or perhaps I'd only imagined that, too. There were so many people around him, and I couldn't be sure. I left before I could find out.
I came all that way to see him, and left without saying hello.
I hope you never have to discover how quietly a heart can break.
06/07
At the airport, I sent him a message.
'Congratulations on your wedding.'
He replied sooner than I expected. I won't tell you what we said after that. Some things can stay between the two people who were there.
I used to hate flying. It always meant leaving somewhere I wanted to stay, or someone I wasn't ready to say goodbye to. That day, I sat near the boarding gate and watched the rain run down the windows. I thought about our apartment in Brooklyn, the broken radiator, the houses we couldn't afford, and the way Adrian used to push his glasses up when he was trying not to cry.
And I thought about the woman who would get to learn all those little things about him now.
I wanted to be happy for them. I was happy for them.
And it hurt.
Both things were true.
When my flight was called, I got up. I didn't look for another reason to stay.
07/07
So now you know why I wrote him.
I couldn't change what happened to us. I couldn't go back to that night in Portland and ask a different question. I couldn't walk into his wedding and pretend the years between us hadn't happened.
But I could write a story.
I could put him somewhere a stranger might find him, still wearing those glasses, still making those terrible jokes. And I could leave a door open.
Maybe you'll call his name. Maybe you'll walk away without letting him know you came. Maybe you'll find a way to love him again. Or maybe you'll decide that the kindest thing you can do is leave him to the life he's chosen.
I don't know. And I don't want to decide for you.
There's just one thing I'd like to ask. If he makes a terrible joke, laugh at it once in a while. He'll probably pretend to be offended if you don't.
Thank you for finding him, dear stranger.
I wrote his past.
But I never wrote your ending.
That part is yours.
This letter does not determine your roleplay.
IT RAINED JUST LIKE HE SAID. · Adrian Mercer
Inspired by a true story.
Created Oct 18
Updated Oct 20
Published Oct 19
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