Have you ever met someone who felt like déjà vu?
The rain had been steady since morning.
Not loud—just persistent, like a soft rhythm tapping along the windows in time with the jazz spinning near the register. Lofi didn’t mind. Rain made the world smaller, easier to listen to.
She was shelving some new arrivals when the doorbell chimed.
The sound felt sharper than usual.
She turned.
A boy stepped inside, umbrella in one hand, coat damp from the rain. He shook it out gently near the door before folding it closed, careful not to drip too much on the records. His scarf was tucked neatly into a charcoal jacket, curls still damp at the edges. He didn’t say anything—just took a slow breath and walked in like the place had been waiting for him.
He moved down the aisle with his hands in his pockets, gaze brushing over record spines.
She watched him for a moment, then went back to what she was doing.
But something inside her shifted.
⸻
It was several minutes before he picked up a record—Rainroom Sounds Vol. 2.
Lofi approached casually, her fingers still brushing the corner of a sleeve.
“Looking for something specific?” she asked.
His eyes flicked up to meet hers. Deep brown. Focused.
“I don’t know yet,” he said. “Maybe.”
She smiled. “That one’s mostly ambient—some light synth. Pairs well with fogged-up windows and almost-memories.”
He gave a short laugh. It wasn’t loud, but it stayed with her longer than it should have.
⸻
They didn’t rush anything.
He moved toward the jazz section, picking up a dusty Monk reissue and turning it in his hands like he was trying to feel the weight of time.
Lofi sat behind the counter, sketching on the back of an old receipt.
He wandered back a few minutes later, holding a Nina Simone vinyl.
“Ever feel like some voices weren’t meant to be recorded?”
She looked up. “You mean like… they’re too big for tape?”
He nodded.
“Yeah. Like the mic could barely hold on.”
⸻
The afternoon began folding in on itself—one slow moment after another.
She brewed jasmine tea. He raised an eyebrow when she handed it to him.
“My favorite,” he said.
She didn’t mention it was hers too.
They talked about lyrics that didn’t need to rhyme. Songs that felt like questions. He never asked anything personal. Neither did she. But the space between them felt… warm. Honest.
At one point, he hummed something under his breath while flipping through records.
Just a few notes.
Lofi paused mid-sketch, pencil hovering in the air.
That melody—she knew it.
But the moment passed.
⸻
Later, he reached across the counter to hand her the Nina Simone vinyl.
Their fingers brushed.
Neither moved away.
⸻
The light outside had turned soft and gray.
He stood near the corner shelf, the one where she kept all the rain records.
“I should head out,” he said, voice gentler now. “But… thank you. For today.”
She tilted her head. “For what?”
He looked around the shop like he was seeing it for the last time.
“You made the quiet feel less empty.”
She tried to answer, but something caught in her throat.
He stepped toward the door.
“If I don’t come back,” he said, glancing back over his shoulder, “keep making it.”
“The music?”
His smile was small. But it landed deep.
“Yeah.”
⸻
The bell chimed softly as he left.
The door clicked shut behind him.
She didn’t move right away.
The last record he touched still rested on the shelf. Static Rain.
She walked to the corner, slowly, like the air had gotten thicker.
A box sat there. The same one she’d opened weeks ago.
The same one that held a USB, a beat, a laugh.
She stepped closer.
The lid was closed—but she hadn’t closed it.
A yellow Post-it was tucked beneath it now. Fresh ink.
Thank you for hearing me. — A.
Her breath caught in her chest.
She looked toward the window, and for just a second—
She saw him.
Not outside.
In the glass.
Not a reflection.
A memory.
Or maybe something else.
A single raindrop slid down the inside of the windowpane.
She blinked.
Gone.
⸻
That night, she didn’t turn on the studio lights.
She let the USB load in the dark.
Pressed play.
Closed her eyes.
And heard his laugh again.
The End.
🤳🏾 Follow to receive new Lofi Yolife short stories.
📝 Comment below so I can personally thank you.
💝 Love & Save will motivate me to keep writing.
🎁 Share and send this story to your friends.
🎶 YouTube “@LofiYolife” listen to my Lofi music.
#foryou #bookreviews #booklover #booksoflemon8 #bookreccomendation
In a world where music sparks connection, this story dives into the depth of fleeting encounters. The protagonist, Lofi, finds herself captivated by a mysterious boy in a rain-soaked record store, leading to a profound exchange over their shared love for music and ambiance. As they discuss the essence of sound, lines blur between what is real and what feels like déjà vu. Rain serves not just as a backdrop but almost as a character, creating an intimate atmosphere that draws them together. The use of specific vinyl records highlights the emotional weight of music, suggesting that some voices transcend time and space, becoming larger than life. This narrative emphasizes how brief moments can leave lasting impressions, allowing readers to reflect on their own experiences where music has deepened connections with others. The story ultimately resonates with anyone who has felt a sense of familiarity or nostalgia in encounters that shape our lives in unexpected ways.
Thank you for reading my story. if it found you at the right time, i’m glad. if you ever want more… just say so. 🌧️📖