Last time, in the quiet autumn park of Havlikovisadi, 2 dogs
met before their owners truly did.
A King Charles Cavalier named Cucumber stole more than a game.
He carried off a bright yellow ball, leaving behind a golden
retriever still searching for it, and a man named Daniel
watching. Forever new to Prague and new to
the rhythm of this city, It was the kind of moment that might
have ended there. A smile across the field, A
wave. A ball tucked away by accident.
But some things aren't meant to stay missing.
This is Autumn Tales Chapter 2, Return and rain.
In this episode, a yellow ball finds its way back.
A new routine begins to take shape, and when rain interrupts
it, an umbrella and an unexpected invitation bring to
men a little closer. The first day of work is never
easy. New hallways, new names, new
expectations. But sometimes what lingers isn't
what you did in the classroom, it's what weights in the bag you
carry home. The alarm buzzed sharp against
the quiet. Evan pushed himself upright,
blinking at the pale rectangle of light stretching through the
tall windows. His stomach already churned with
nerves. His first day at the new school.
On the floor, Cucumber was wide awake.
The King Charles Cavalier trotted across the boards with
nails clicking, tail wagging like a banner.
All right, breakfast first. Evan muttered.
He crossed to the half impact box marked Cucumber's Things,
tugged it open, and pulled out the crinkled bag of kibble.
The sound alone sent Cucumber into a frenzy of spinning paws
and impatient yips. Evan filled the bowl, setting it
down on the floor. The little spaniel dove in,
crunching noisily, ears dipping into the dish with every bite.
Evan leaned against the counter, straightening his tie as the dog
ate. The apartment felt different
this morning. Too big, too quiet, boxes still
stacked like Sentinels against the walls.
When Cucumber lifted his head, whiskers damp, Evan crouched
down to brush a hand over his ears.
Listen, today's a long one. First day at school for me, and
1st day alone in this place for you.
Cucumber tilted his head, eyes wide, untrusting.
Evan smiled faintly. You'll have to get used to it,
buddy. I'll be back before you know it.
Maybe even with something better than kibble treats, if you're
good. The Cavalier barked once, tail
thumping like a promise. Evan stood, smoothing his tie,
then reached for his toad on the chair.
He slipped his wallet inside and heard a muted thunk.
He frowned, pushed a folder aside, and there it was.
The yellow ball, smooth, worn from teeth, sitting like it had
been waiting all along. A memory flickered, sunny nosing
at the grass, confused, Daniel's voice carrying across the park,
warm and steady. Evan sighed, slipping the ball
back into the tote. We'll return it after work.
Cucumber wagged his tail like it had been his idea from the
start. Some things you carry to work
without meaning to. Nerves, expectations, or a ball
that doesn't belong to you. The school smelled faintly of
chalk and floor Polish, the kind of scent that clung old
buildings. Evan's shoes clicked against the
tiled hallway as the head teacher introduced him along the
way. New faces, polite nods, names he
might not remember until weeks later.
When he stepped into his classroom, the room quieted.
A dozen students looked up. Evan felt the weight of it, the
familiar nerves of being both new and expected to lead.
He set his toad on the desk and pulled out a marker.
Good morning. He began studying his voice.
I'm Mr. Parkum, I'll be teaching English this year, so I suppose
today we'll test both your patience and my memory.
A ripple of laughter ran through the room, the tension ease just
a little. Evan smiled, scribbling his name
across the board in bold letters.
As the lesson found its rhythm, the nerves dulled.
Grammar drills, vocabulary lists, simple sentences coaxed
into shape. Evan paced the aisles, leaning
into check work, praising small victories.
A girl in the back grinned when she managed the word through
without stumbling. A boy up front whispered teacher
with a Czech accent that made Evan chuckle quietly.
It was familiar, comforting even, to be here, guiding words
into place. And yet, between exercises, his
thoughts drifted. His hand brushed the edge of the
tote, and he remembered the bright yellow ball tucked
inside. He saw Sunny nosing the grass,
Daniel's calm voice calling him back.
For a moment, he caught himself smiling at the thought.
He coughed, turn back to the board, and wrote out another
sentence with a little more force than necessary.
By the time the final bell rang, his throat was dry, his
shoulders tight, and his notebook dotted with reminders
for tomorrow. On the surface, it had gone well
enough, but as he packed his things, sliding his wallet back
into the tote, his fingers brushed a smooth curve of rubber
still resting at the bottom. The ball was still there,
waiting. Some lessons end with a bell.
Others follow you home, carried quietly in the bottom of a bag.
The tram hissed away from the stop as Evan crossed the narrow
St. He could have gone straight
home, but the little bell over the pet shop door tugged at his
attention. He remembered what he'd told
Cucumber that morning. Be good and I'll bring something
back. The shop smelled of hay,
biscuits, and a faint trace of sawdust.
Rows of leashes and chew toys hung in neat lines, bright
packets of treats stacked in bins.
A German shepherd barked faintly from a crate in the corner,
answered by the flutter of parakeets overhead.
Evan drifted toward the dog aisle, tugging at his scarf.
He picked up one packet, then another.
Duck flavored bites, Chicken strips, something with salmon.
Too many choices, he muttered under his breath.
You're probably not picky, are you?
The shopkeeper, an older man with Half Moon glasses, smiled
knowingly for the little spaniel.
His check carried the lute of English practice, this one
gentle on the stomach. Good reward for training.
Evan accepted the bag, grateful for the help.
The packet crinkled softly in his hands, already carrying the
smell of meat. He smiled faintly.
Perfect, thank you. When he tucked the bag into his
tote, his wallet brushed against the smooth rubber of the yellow
ball. The reminder made his chest
tighten. By the time Evan pushed back
into the cool evening, the bag felt heavier than just kibble
and treats. The park was quieter than usual,
the last of the daylight stretching long across the
vineyard slope. Evan unclipped Cucumber's leash
and the little cavalier bolted forward, ears flapping like
banners. Sonny spotted him at once.
A golden streak tore across the field, barking bright and eager,
colliding with Cucumber and a joyous tangle.
The two circled, spun, and yipped as if they'd been apart
for years instead of a single day.
Daniel crouched near the bench. He looked up as Evan approached,
tote slung at his side. Before Evan could even speak,
Sonny pressed straight against him, knolls buried deep against
the canvas bag. His tail wagged furiously, paws
shifting the bright intensity of a dog who knew exactly what was
inside. Evan startled, pulling the strap
higher. Hang on.
Evan pulled the yellow ball from inside, holding it out.
I think this belongs to you. Daniel laughed, shaking his
head. Oh, I was looking for that.
Well, thank you. Daniel rolled it once in his
palm before tossing it lightly into the grass.
Sunny launched after it in a blur, triumphant bark breaking
through the cool air, cucumber hot on his heels.
Evan crouched, tugging at his toad again.
The crinkle of the pet shop packet drew both dogs instantly
back, eyes wide, tails thrashing the grass.
He smiled faintly. And this was a promise.
First day of school for me, first day alone for him.
Figured he earned it. Cucumber pressed eagerly against
his knee, Sunny leaning close to clearly expecting his share.
Evan broke the treat in half, offering one piece to each.
The cavellier snapped his up, the retriever tick his gently,
tail still wagging. Daniel chuckled.
If you keep that up, they'll expect snacks every time you
show up. Evan laughed softly.
Wouldn't be the worst way to make friends.
Daniel straighten then, brushing his palms, and after a moment,
held out a hand. We never actually introduced
ourselves. I'm Daniel.
Evan hesitated just to breath, remembering the brass tag he'd
seen, the name he'd whispered quietly to himself once before.
He let the paw slip away in a smile, taking the hand.
And I'm Evan. Daniel's grip was steady, warm.
Sunny came barreling back again. Ball dropped proudly at Daniel's
feet. Cucumber sat neatly beside Evan,
still nosing at the treat packet.
Daniel gave a short laugh, ruffling Sonny's fur.
Guess they're better at introductions than we are.
Evan fed them one last piece, watching the two dogs chew side
by side, tails drumming the same beat.
I think they've decided for us. And for the first time since
arriving in Prague, the park felt less like a place for
strangers and more like the beginning of something.
A ball returned, a promise kept, and the smallest kindness
shared. The park was no longer just a
meeting place. Slowly, quietly, it was becoming
something more. The week that followed took on a
shape of its own, not arranged, not spoken, but a rhythm that
both men and both dogs seem to trust.
Every evening, just as the sky began to dim and the vineyard
slope glowed copper in the fading light, Evan arrived with
cucumber tugging eagerly at the leash.
And almost without fail, Sunny was already there, bounding
across the grass as though he'd been waiting.
The reunion was always noisy. Cucumber barked, sharp and high.
Sunny answered, deep and low. And then the chase began.
Paws tore through fallen leaves, tails whipped, and laughter
carried faintly from both men standing at opposite edges of
the field. Evan would raise a hand in
greeting, the kind of half wave that had grown easier each day.
Daniel usually responded with a small nod, sometimes a grin if
Sunny had stolen the ball too quickly.
Nothing more than that, but enough.
The park became a collection of small moments stitched together
day by day. One evening, Cucumber launched
himself head first into a pile of wet leaves, rolling with
complete abandoned until his ears and chest were streaked
brown. Evan groaned, but Daniel's laugh
carried across the field, warm and unguarded.
Another night, Sunny sat perfectly still, muscles tense,
eyes locked on the yellow ball in Daniel's hand.
When Daniel finally threw it, Sani launched out fast.
Evan caught the ball mid flight, hiding the ball in his pocket.
The retriever froze in confusion, ears flat, then
bolted after Evan threw the ball with a bark of sheer delight.
Evan laughed so hard he had to bend over, and Daniel shook his
head like he was trying not to join him.
There were quiet moments too, a take away coffee steaming in
Evan's hand, the scent of roasted beans curling in the
cold, a faint trace of machine oil clinging to Daniel's jacket
after long hours in the shop. Neither stayed more than an
hour, but both always left later than they planned, and always at
the center of it. The dogs, their joy, made
everything else easier. It wasn't friendship yet, not
exactly. More like recognition, a thread
drawn tighter with every evening, until the thought of
not meeting felt strange. Then came the rain.
Heavy drops beat against the windows of Evans Apartment that
morning, the sound steady and dull by evening.
The streets of Herzavis gleamed black, every puddle trembling
with the weight of the downpour. Cucumber stood at the door, ears
flat, tail swishing uncertainly. His eyes followed every sound of
the rain against the glass. Evan crouched, resting a hand
over his silky head. Not tonight, buddy, you've got
your pat, no point getting soaked for nothing.
The cavalier barked softly, almost a complaint, then trotted
back to the window. He sat with his nose pressed to
the glass, watching the rainfall where the park should have been.
Across the neighborhood, Daniel clipped Sunny's leash with
practiced hands. Rain or not, Sunny had to go
out. The retriever charged happily
into the street, but slowed as the water poured harder, his
tail lowering. He knew rainy days meant short
loops, not the part. Still, his nose tilted in the
familiar direction, tugging gently against the leash.
Then yells sighed, rubbing his hood back from his face.
Not tonight, boy. Next time.
Sonny looked up at him, drenched, patient but unwilling.
His coat dripped onto the pavement as though even his body
disapproved. Daniel pushed the door close
behind them, water dripping onto the entry mat.
Sonny shook himself hard, spraying droplets across the
hall, then looked up with wide, innocent eyes as if it were
somehow Daniel's fault. Great.
Daniel muttered, grabbing a towel.
Guess less sleep tonight if you're damp on the rug.
He crouched, rubbing the retrievers coat, working the
towel along his back and chest. Sonny leaned into it, sighing,
tail thumping even as his first stuck up in odd patches.
Daniel's voice soft, half a sigh.
Yeah, I wished no rain too, kiddo.
Bad cucumbers the same tonight. He smirked faintly, shaking his
head. Sometimes I wonder who's
training who. Sonny pressed his head against
Daniel's knee, sighing deeper. Across town, Cucumber went
softly against the apartment door, nose pressed to the gap.
Evan lingered in the kitchen, listening to the rain beat
against the windows. The apartment felt too quiet,
the stillness heavier than it should have been.
He rubbed at the back of his neck, exhaling slowly.
Sometimes it isn't the days you meet that matter most.
It's the day you don't, the absence that shows you how
quickly a stranger has become part of your routine.
Rain changes things. It interrupts, it delays, it
breaks the rhythm you thought you could rely on.
But sometimes it doesn't stop it altogether.
Sometimes it only redirects the path.
The storm that had kept them apart the night before finally
broke. What remained was softer, a fine
drizzle drifting down over the rooftops, Air cool and damp, the
pads of havli kovi saadi slick with fallen leaves.
Evan hesitated, his doorway, umbrella in one hand, leash in
the other. Cucumber stood pressed against
the door frame, tail beating a hopeful rhythm.
Evan sighed. All right, you win.
Just don't drag me into the mud, OK?
The cavalier barked once, triumphant, and bolted ahead the
second the clip released. The vineyard slope glistened
with raindrops when they reached the park.
Vines shimmered like glass threads under the Gray sky,
puddles forming mirrors in the stone walkways.
And then, through the mist movement, Sunny came bounding up
the path, golden coat darkened by rain, leash trailing just
enough to show he wasn't pulling alone.
Daniel followed close behind, rain speckling his dark hair.
The retriever lunged forward the instant he saw Cucumber, barking
with sheer delight. The little spaniel answered at
once, and within seconds both dogs were circling, slipping,
shaking water everywhere as though the rain had been worth
it all along. Daniel lifted a hand in
greeting, voice carrying across the path.
Guess they didn't give either of us a choice tonight.
Evan laughed, shaking his head, rain dripping off his brow.
Not even close. The drizzle thickened suddenly,
pattering heavier against the leaves overhead.
Cucumber shook himself furiously, spraying water across
Evan's trousers. Sonny barked once, ears
flapping, his tails slapping against Daniel's leg.
Evan fumble with the umbrella under his arm, leash tugging,
canopy catching awkwardly. Oh, come on.
Daniel stepped in quickly. He caught the slipping leash
first, his hand firm, then reached for the umbrella.
Their fingers brushed as the fabric snapped open with a sharp
thwip. Rain hammered against it, the
sound loud, enclosing. Daniel angled the umbrella
higher, stepping close, shoulders mat.
Then, almost naturally, his arm lifted, settling across Evan's
back to steady the umbrella above them both.
It was practical, necessary, but the weight of it lingered,
warmth seeping through damp fabric.
Evan felt it in his chest, as steady as the drum of rain
overhead. The part blurred around them,
rain streaking silver lines through the air.
All that remained clear was the space they shared under the
narrow circle of dry. Sunny pressed against Daniel's
leg, coat still damp. Cucumber leaned into Evan Shin,
waiting for the next move. The dogs anchored them to the
ground, but the moment above belonged only to the two men.
Daniel's voice dropped quiet under the rain.
They don't even know they're the reason we're standing here.
Evan let out a shaky laugh. Pretty sure they planned it.
Their eyes met under the umbrella, closer than either
expected. Neither looked away.
The rain eased, softening back into a mist.
Daniel lowered his arm more slowly than necessary, letting
the umbrella dip. For a moment, Evan felt the loss
of warmth as keenly as the return of cool air.
The dogs tugged forward, eager to continue.
Evan adjusted his grip on the leash, and Daniel fell into step
beside him. Their strides matched without
effort, the sound of paws splashing through shallow
puddles filling the silence between them.
The vineyard rose, rose on either side, leaves dripping
with silver light. The path narrowed, forcing them
closer. Cucumber darted ahead, nose to
the ground, while Sunny lingered back, as if ensuring no one
strayed too far. Daniel glanced sideways, a hint
of a smile. You ever notice how they don't
care what the weather's like? As long as we're here, it's
enough. Evan breathed out through his
nose. Quiet might be smarter than we
are. At the end of the path, the
lights of a cafe glowed faintly through the mist, warm windows,
silhouettes moving inside. Daniel slowed, Sunny leaning
close to his side. His voice was casual, almost
testing. You know, there's a place just
down the street. Dog friendly, good coffee.
Evan glanced at him, curious. I've haven't been there.
Daniel gave a small shrug. I still on Sony?
We could stop in some time. Doesn't have to be today.
Evan adjusted his grip on Cucumber's leash, a smile
tugging at his mouth. That sounds nice.
They walked a few steps more, the silence stretching
comfortably between them, broken only by the splash of paws
through shallow puddles. Daniel's voice dropped a little
lower as they walked, his hand brushing Sunny's damp fur.
How about Saturday this week? Evan blinked, caught for a
second between surprise and the pull of a smile.
Before he could answer, Sonny barked, sharp, eager, and
cucumber yipped right after, tails beating like they'd
rehearsed it. Evan laughed, shaking his head.
Guess that's a yes. Daniel grinned.
They miss. Softening around them as the
dogs bounded forward, as if dragging both men toward the
promise of the weekend. For now, it was enough, the path
ahead and Saturday waiting. And sometimes the answer comes
before the question even settles.
In one apt, a retriever shook out the last of the rain,
curling against his owner's knee with a sigh that spoke of tired
contentment. In another, a cavalier spaniel
settled at the door, tail thumping softly, still carrying
the scent of wet leaves and promises not yet kept.
Two dogs, two men, one city drawing after the storm.
Neither of them knew how quickly a walk in the rain would shift
into something more. But tonight the threads had
already tightened under a narrow umbrella and in the barked
agreement of two impatient dogs. This was Autumn Tales Chapter 2,
Return and rain. If you enjoyed this episode,
don't forget to follow and subscribe to our channel for the
next chapter where Saturday arrives, brunch is shared and
would begin as coincidence starts to feel a lot like
choice.