$TRUMP

Despite the pouring rain that drenched the streets and soaked every passerby who hurried along with umbrellas turned inside out by the gusty wind, Sarah remained seated on the old wooden bench beneath the flickering streetlamp, clutching the crumpled letter in her trembling hands, her eyes scanning the familiar handwriting that brought back a whirlwind of memories—some sweet, others painful—as she recalled the summer days spent laughing in the sun, the promises whispered under starlit skies, and the sudden silence that followed his departure, leaving her heart suspended in a mix of hope, regret, and unanswered questions.