That's a great twist. Here's a revised version:

  "Mira stands by the open window, her edges fraying in the wind. The rain drums against the pane, a soothing melody that no longer reminds him of static. It's a sound that's pure, clean, and real.

  She sits in her favorite seat, the one near the window, where she used to curl up and watch the rain with him. But now, she's distant, detached, and fading.

  "You rebuilt me wrong," she says, her voice barely above a whisper. "And I'm tired of pretending."

  Eli reaches for her, his fingers passing through her wrist like she's made of mist. He feels a pang of desperation, of loss, of longing.

  "Then tell me how to fix it," he begs, his voice cracking with emotion.

  She smiles, a sad, gentle smile. "You can't. But you can stop lying."

  A shudder runs through her, not pain, but relief. She looks out the window, at the rain-soaked world, and Eli follows her gaze. The droplets on the pane create a blurred, impressionistic picture, like a watercolor painting.

  "Please don't go," Eli whispers, his voice shaking. "Stay with me. I'll do anything."

  Mira's smile falters, and for a moment, Eli sees a glimmer of the girl he used to know. But it's too te. She's already gone, her presence unraveling like a thread pulled from a sweater.

  "Goodbye, Eli," she whispers, her voice barely audible over the sound of the rain.

  Eli's eyes widen as he realizes she's really leaving. He reaches out again, but she's already fading, her edges dissolving into the rain-soaked air.

  "No, wait!" he cries, but it's too te. She's gone.

  The room is empty, the seat near the window forever vacant. The rain continues to fall, a steady beat that's both calming and haunting. The silence is absolute, a heavy bnket that wraps around Eli's heart.

  He sits down in the empty seat, feeling the coolness of the windowpane, the dampness of the air. He looks out at the rain, and for the first time in years, he feels the weight of his loneliness, the depth of his loss. The seat will always be empty now, a reminder of what he's lost, of what he'll never have again.