The older I became, the more I wondered about the truths of adulthood. And the older I grew the more I realized that it was all a farce; the growing up part I mean. The so called “becoming a woman or a man” just wasn’t true. What was more accurate was to say that we were all big boys and girls. Inside I still felt like a kid; approaching thirty and I was more insecure, more frightened, more weary of the world than I had ever been as a child. As my understanding matured, I realized that everyone was playing one big game.

No one was sure, no one had the answers. We were all just trying our best to make ourselves and those we cared about happy. How could I blame those adults for telling lies? Saying that you would get everything, could have anything once you grew up; what they had really meant was that we would understand all the confusion and the lack of confidence, that we would understand struggle. And suddenly those simple things that we declared as children couldn’t be as simple.

And they were right, I did understand all too well what growing up had wrought in my life. I felt burdened with knowledge, old from grief. I longingly wished to be a child once more, innocent of how living could break you.

My move to Philadelphia was relatively easy in comparison to any move I had completed in the past. I’d boxed up all of my possessions and the few of Jaime’s that I had kept in just a few days. I hired a moving company to make the twenty-seven hour long drive to my new home city for me while I took a three hour flight. It had cost way more than I’d imagined and in the end having money truly did make life easier. I spent it with feelings of guilt sinking into my gut but I did my best to ignore them; it was unfair but what else would I spend it on?

I intended to move into an apartment, but my hunt ended in me not getting an apartment at all, instead renting out a brownstone property right in the middle of Washington Square. As my realtor told me excitedly while she showed me the place, it was in the center of the nightlife; I had access to tons of shopping and museums. I could recognize the spiel she gave me, one reminiscent of the speeches that I used to give buyers as I showed them potential homes.

But though I nodded along with the facts she listed, what captured me about the house wasn’t the upgraded finishes, exposed brick walls or the location. Instead it was the master bedroom that was tucked away at the very top of the house, the room having slanted walls to accommodate its roof which met directly above the bed they had placed for staging. Jaime had always loved attic-style rooms like this and before I knew it, I was agreeing to her rental proposal.

Life moved on slowly. It was hard for me to focus on any one thing, hard for me to want to do more than lay in various locations around my home in a stupor. The outside world held nothing for me and inside my heart there was little that I loved any longer. In order not to run through all the money I had left, I used the same company Jaime had and invested in several companies, stocks, and other currencies that my advisor had suggested. Reid had been eager to get his hands on my account once again, but besides the bi-weekly updates he texted to my phone, I mostly ignored the fact that I had money at all.

Unwilling to leave home, I got food deliveries to my door and paid a woman to clean my home on the rare occasions that I left. Every other week she would come and air the place out while I left and then I would return from a walk or some other mindless diversion to the same solitary existence. I thought that this was the best that I could do; what else was left for me? I went through the motions and I felt nothing, but the pain had eased and maybe this was as much as I could hope for.

Lighting cracked loudly outside, the sound whipping through the open air outdoors and coming in through the open bedroom window. Two more times it lashed out and I opened my eyes at last, unable to keep them shut any longer. Bright flashes of light streaked illumination into my dimly lit room and I watched the crooked shafts fill up the sky. Cold air rushed into the room along with the smell of burning ozone and I knew that rain was coming next.

I looked up at the ceiling and stared at it, the height of the room suddenly not as tall as I remembered. The longer I looked, the more I could almost feel the pointed room closing in on me, boxing me in as everything became smaller and smaller. My room was suddenly a cage, its gray walls reminiscent of cells in a jail. I felt trapped and unable to breath underneath my blankets and above the continuing booms of nature, all I could hear were the panting breaths I made as I tried to stop the imminent panic attack.

Could I have been so out of it that I didn’t realize how claustrophobia inducing the bedroom was? I’d always hated confined spaces, so how intense had my desire been to satisfy my husband’s wishes that I had forgotten why we’d never gotten a house like this in the first place? The realization of the depth of my apathy was a slap in the face; the effect was dizzying. Sweat had formed on my brow; I suddenly needed fresh air and it had to be now.

I rose from my bed quickly and realized very abruptly that it must’ve been a long time since my last meal. I muttered a curse as I swayed on unsteady legs while I made my way to the bathroom, my feet feeling heavy as I stepped on the plush carpet rug. Flicking on the light in the bathroom, I ignored the mirror, scared of what I might see looking back at me.

I brushed my teeth and washed my face carelessly, ignoring the sting of cold water against my skin. With a clearing mind I brushed my hair and added product to it, the shea butter and water making the dry curls spring back to life. I left the bathroom and threw on a pair of old jeans, T-shirt and to top it off, a hoodie that had seen better days. I found my phone hidden among the bed sheets and I stuck my feet into sneakers, hurrying to get downstairs. Out of the bedroom I felt a little better and had the presence of mind to grab my keys, an umbrella, and my wallet before leaving, the increasingly riotous weather outside spurring on my hasty departure.

Rain threatened me with wisps of moisture blowing into my face but I simply pulled my hood on over my hair, unwilling to open the umbrella for the light mist. I hadn’t checked my phone before I left and I had no concept of the time. It couldn’t have been that late despite the dark that had descended over the city; people still rushed around, intent on getting out of the elements. They all walked with purpose, some together or alone. They all had places to be and I was envious of them. I too wanted something to look forward to, but I only could walk further and further into downtown, listening as the wind picked up and the sprays of water increased in their frequency. The temperature dropped noticeably but I still didn’t want to go back to that place that wasn’t a home.

I walked slowly down the streets, my head down in an effort to avoid water dripping into my eyes. A large brick building was positioned up ahead, the whole of it outlined in a black wire fence. This section of the city was well lit by the street lamps and I could easily make out a line of people who were outside and waiting by two long tables in the gloom. One by one they left with packages in their hands given to them by four people who stood behind the tables, the brown paper bags turned dark and slightly wilting because of the rainfall. None of them were in a hurry though and the low murmur of voices could be heard as they talked amongst themselves. I moved closer and wondered if this was a meeting of some kind as others lingered to eat together standing or sitting at smaller tables set up under fluttering sheets of tarp. But when I looked closely at those gathered, I realized my mistake.

“Hello dear. Are you hungry too?” A voice called out from one of the tables to my right. An older Asian woman looked over at me, her lined face revealing a kind smile. She waved me over and after a pause I went, I don’t know why. Somewhere in my head I wondered just how destitute I looked for the lady to have considered me one of the homeless. I reached her quickly, trying to explain.

“No I’m not. Sorry I was just curious...I should go.” I finished lamely in the face of the unwavering curve to her lips that welcomed me. I made to move past the man on my left who now blocked my retreat, his bulk having stepped in front of me when came to the table, eager to be ahead in line.

“Wait,” she called and rested a hand on my arm. The unexpected contact made me instantly recoil and she took her hand away almost as fast as she’d placed it on me, muttering an apology.

“Would you like to help? We’re here every other night, myself and the other volunteers.” She gestured to herself and the three other people with her, the two men and one woman still handing out the food parcels. They looked just as happy to be out in the rain as the woman next to me, the small smiles lingering on their faces as well as they talked quietly to those in the line. Their plastic jackets were damp with water but they didn’t seem exhausted or annoyed, I wondered what gave them peace.

“I’m not sure I could,” I began, my voice soft and wavering. I couldn’t remember the last time I had spoken to anyone beyond two sentences, especially not to a stranger. But the woman gave me no time to fully refuse.

“It’s completely alright if you’re busy dear, don’t let me force you,” she said with another smile, her eyes crinkled in at the sides in amusement. I panicked in front of her grace.

“Well no... I’m not, busy I mean. I’ve just never volunteered before.” A bright grin came to her face then and it was as if I could see the woman she’d been when she was young. I could tell even in the dim glow of the street lamps that she had been a beauty.

“Wonderful, do you see that center just a ways down the road on 32nd? We meet at five to get the meals started and then pass them out. You’ll be a big help, a strong girl like you,” she praised me and I felt heat rise in my cheeks. Strong... what did that word even mean and how could she have used it to apply to myself? As if she’d heard the question out loud she continued on.

“You’ll do just fine, I promise. My name is MiRan. What’s yours?” She held out her hand for me to shake and I took it loosely, letting it fall from my hands after a half-hearted attempt at courtesy.

“Zayne Ja- Zayne Miller.” My mouth tripped over my maiden last name, my tongue not used to it yet. At the reminder, my head fell once again and I looked away from the woman, pretending that the wet drops of rain had gotten into my eyes.

“Well Zayne, I hope to see you again soon. Here’s my card and remember to ask for MiRan, someone will lead you to me.”

I nodded and thanked her, pocketing the card. I didn’t know if I would truly go out to help, I didn’t know if I would even keep the thin piece of cardboard beyond today. But if I wanted one, I think maybe I could have a small purpose to my days.

There’s something about watching a thunderstorm. And not the light rains but the super heavy downpours that beat on your roof and windows. The wind is blowing so hard and the sharp crackles of thunder and lightning flash and bang in alternating patterns. The dreariness of it, the effect of seeing grey skies and dark clouds does something to the spirit. It’s soothing, watching the rain fall in thick sheets. As if the sky is crying on your behalf, like it’s hurting just as much as you are. And just like how the world is washed clean by the rain, watching it fall cleanses me as well. At least it does until during one particularly forceful wind, my umbrella turns itself inside out.

Unable to walk the streets without one in the mess, I stop at a corner store to buy an over-priced replacement. The small setback overcome, I still don’t want to go home. I wandered the nearly empty streets, finally exploring the city that I’d barely even seen in the last few years. Everything has blurred in the rain, but maybe it’s better that way, better for me to see indistinctly. The longer I can stay in my haze, the easier it is for me to be out. But soon enough, my body betrays me, my stomach rumbling in hunger. Most places have closed because of the weather; I have to walk two more blocks before I can find an open restaurant and by then the rain has finally begun to ease.

The eatery I stop at is fancier than I would have liked, I know I’m not dressed to eat inside had it been busy with customers, but I don’t see anyone even though the ‘open’ light still shines on it’s doorway. The lights are dimmed but I knock on the glass door anyway, hoping to be let in. Soon enough, my knocking is answered.

“Are you still open?” I asked in a voice soft and whispery from disuse and maybe from the cold as well. The younger man hesitated for only a second, his brows drawn until I suppose he gets a better look at me. His frown turns into a polite smile and he nods in the affirmative, his eyes warm.

“We’re still open but ignore the crew. We had an early night,” he explained and as he gestured for me to come inside, he took my umbrella in his hands, folding it with care and placing it by the entry before I even had a chance to attempt it myself. A little flustered, I walked in behind him, wondering just how bad I looked. I was under no illusions; I had already been thought homeless once tonight, I didn’t put it past this guy to think it of me as well. But I had money in my pocket and it was plenty enough to pay for several meals.

He guided me to a table near a see- through wall, the circular glass formed around a kitchen and closed it off from most of the restaurant; in the midst of everything but still apart. Inside were five men, some wearing server’s uniforms and others not. All of them were joking and laughing in a language I didn’t understand, but the words flowed smoothly over my ears, their tones calm. They were friends I could tell and they seemed to be teasing each other while cleaning up. Embarrassed now that I knew I was imposing, when I opened my mouth to tell the waiter never mind, he gestured to my seat again, pointedly looking at it until I sat down.

“I’ll be back in just a minute, so take look at the menu and let me know what you’d like. I’ll just go get the chef.”

He handed me an all-black menu, the tiny booklet like the ones used in the fancy French restaurants Jaime would take me to when he wanted to celebrate. A sharp ache went through me but I stamped down the memory, not yet ready for those emotions again. The youth had moved quickly away into the kitchen and beyond so I had little choice other than to flip through the options offered. The descriptions were in English and a second language that I assumed was the same ones the other men were speaking now. Their voices still spoke but they were quieter now and I knew the young man had told them I was here.

Skimming through the four pages of the menu, I decided on an herbal tea and the chicken soup; the picture looked delicious and the rainy night outside had turned chilly. I was eager to have something to warm me. Only a minute passed after I had finished deciding and the server was back, another look of friendliness showing on his countenance.

“All ready?” he asked me and now I could hear the slight accent to his speech. When I told him of my choices, he took down the order on a small pad, saying he’d be back again with my drink. He walked smoothly away and with his back turned I watched him. He was just above average height with hair that reached the ends of his ears, the black strands perfectly in place. His relaxed smile was set in a handsome face, but I could feel the adolescence radiating off him. Very early twenties was my best guess but in comparison to my age, he felt stunningly fresh. Not yet touched by tragedy, he was still open.

Looking down at the silverware in front of me, I thought of the tag he wore on his shirt, the name Jungkook written on it. I said it quietly to myself, wondering over the pronunciation. I’d never heard of a name like that before and again I was curious. I knew only that this didn’t seem to be a Japanese restaurant based on the words in the menu. My knowledge was admittedly limited, the only Asian thing I’d ever took interest in being translated manga. The graphic novels were like comic books but better in my opinion, although the things I had read were high fantasy and spoke about nothing of the real culture. I had no idea which one of the many Asian countries this restaurant’s cuisine might cater to.

As he’d promised, Jungkook came back with my beverage promptly and informed me that my meal was coming soon along with free appetizers. Thanking him, he took his leave once again and this time I listened for sounds from the kitchen. There was still the sound of speaking, but now accompanying the voices were telltale signs of things being cooked. Chopping could be heard, along with the sizzle of a pan. And there was a new voice among the ones I’d heard before. This had to be the chef.

I wanted to hear better, so I put down the hood to my jacket and instantly my hair sprung up from the confines, eager to escape. I patted it once, just to make sure it was still in place and then went back to listening. This new voice was different from the others, the soft tone at times lightly lilting and at others deeper. I was tempted to take a glance; that was the purpose of the huge glass wall surrounding the kitchen. It was made for customers to watch as their food was cooked. But my shy nature got the better of me and instead I picked at the plastic holder the held together my knife and fork to a napkin.

The voices all continued and I lost track of time, my mind blissfully empty even as Jungkook brought me the side dishes he’d mentioned and I took small sips of my tea. I thought of nothing and no one in particular, but my ears still strained to hear that singular voice among the others.

“Chicken soup?” A man said to the left of me, and I knew it was that voice, the one that was so melodic in what I assumed was his native language and was just as entrancing in English. My heart stuttering, I forced myself to finally look and what I saw stole my breath in an instant.

Taller than me but shorter than what I’d imagined, a guy stood near me in a clean white dress shirt and half apron, the sleeves of the shirt rolled up to his elbows. Hands that were small but surprisingly still manly held the tray of my food in his hands and he set it down on my table with ease. As he placed each dish in front of me I couldn’t help but stare and take in the narrowly cut skinny jeans, thickly-soled black shoes and finally his face. I had avoided it for as long as I could but it was inevitable when he stepped back, his service complete.

His hair was dark brown with highlights of a slightly lighter tone interspersed throughout. He had a strong jawline and almost square chin. A pair of pillowy lips kept his mouth from looking harsh and his nose was straight and tall. His eyes were thin and curved but narrowed in at the sides, giving them the appearance of being larger than the were. Above them black eyebrows sat perfectly sculpted to match the proportions of his face and thin glasses rimmed in gold rested over it all. It finally dawned on my sluggish mind that the man in front of me was beautiful.

He tilted his head to the side slightly and I realized that he had asked me a question in the midst of my staring. I didn’t know what he’d said but I nodded anyway and to my surprise he sat down.

“It’s called ‘healing soup’,” he told me in a low voice, one full of laughter and mischief.

Startled, I pulled my bowl of soup close to me, panic causing me to not be able to handle the chopsticks I’d used with great dexterity since I was ten. Picking up the soup spoon, I went in for a bite of the chicken that swam in fragrant broth.

The savory meat fell away from the bone with barely a touch of my utensil and when I brought it to my mouth to eat, the soft chicken melting in my mouth as I chewed sent a rush of pleasure through me to my core. I quickly grabbed and ate another piece, eager for that flavor to burst against my taste buds once more. I think I may have moaned, I wasn’t sure but I felt a warmth that I hadn’t experienced before, as if the chicken soup really was as healing as the chef claimed. I relaxed back into my chair and watched as broth filled the deep hole of my spoon. I brought the fragrant liquid to my lips and the savory salty taste sparked against my tongue once more.

“It’s delicious,” I told him seriously and I only half pretended to be so captivated by my meal that I didn’t speak. But that didn’t stop the gorgeous man in front of me who looked on with a satisfied smile as I ate, telling me his name was Jimin. He explained that he was the owner and chef, and then he asked what I did for a living. I looked up from my meal slowly with dread.

“I-I don’t work,” I told him, remembering my recently left bed with embarrassment and something I hadn’t experienced in some time, irritation. I hadn’t felt anything but dazed in a long while and for a whole year I had never moved outside of my house, content to let others bring my food, clean for me, and give me the appearance of living. But it had all been a show and with just a one question he had exposed my “getting better” for what it really was. I was hiding from the world.

“I have money though,” I reassured him quickly and I watched as surprise brought a curve to his lips. A lovely pink, they parted to show white teeth behind them, the front two just slightly crooked. The effect was immediately endearing and I forced my eyes back down to my soup.

I didn’t know if the force of his gaze was merely curious or if those brown eyes of his sparkled especially when he looked at me. A flush rose to my face but I brought another spoonful of the delectable soup to my lips and avoided looking at him. The boy Jungkook had been handsome but not like Jimin. Something about him reminded me of Jaime...

Choking on the thought I resisted shaking my head to rid myself of the memories that came flooding to mind. Stifling a gasp, unbidden tears welled up in my eyes and I bit my lip hard to force them back. I stood up quickly and deposited forty dollars from my wallet onto the table.

“I’m sorry,” I told the man who had almost made me smile. “I have to go.”

A/N: Hey guys! Welcome back to the fic, I hope this chapter was to your liking. I love rainy days dearly, and a cloudy sky for me is oftentimes much better than a sunny one. I wonder if anyone else watches the rain and finds peace? I hope this story eases your heart and lets you loose focus on the things that cause you pain, even if it's just for a few minutes while you read. I'm so thankful you all continue to read my works, I take so much joy in writing for you all! Remember to COMMENT, UPVOTE and SUBCRIBE for more content. Much love <3!