I dreamed I was holding his hand in the rain

It wasn’t a memory, not really—just the weight of it. The kind of rain that doesn’t fall but presses down, like the sky had forgotten how to let go. We were standing at the edge of something that looked like a dock, but wasn’t. No water, just wet air and the smell of salt on skin. He didn’t say anything. Just looked at me, then back at the dark, and squeezed once. Like he was saying it’s okay to forget the rest. When I woke up, my palm still felt warm. And for a second, I thought I could hear him breathing.