Letters From The Rain

Spring rain. There was nothing better than spring rain. With the sodden slosh of footsteps and the fresh, musky scent of the rain after and the small little group of people who were always anxious to go out in the rain. There was always that kind of people and I happen to be one of them. Huddled underneath bus-stops, underneath train stations, anywhere, as long as the rain couldn’t touch me. I never was that kind of person to just get wet.

I didn’t hate water specifically. I didn’t detest showering or swimming, unless the water was cold. But every day it rained, I see a certain person, with a hood over her head, walking in the rain. He never fails to surprise me. I have never seen his face, only the way his wet sneakers stepped into puddles and the way his entire form seems to be taking in the rain, as if the rain had been fuelling his with unlimited energy. His steps are rebounding and light, seemingly weightless even. His grey hoodie turns a dark shade, nearing black, in the rain but through everything, he was a curious human being.

Why is he out in the rain? What is he doing? Does he need an umbrella?

The bus comes and I am left staring after his from my window. I could see strands of hair plastered to the sides of his face. I could see the brown tips of his hair, which struck me as peculiar and strange. He never once seems to be unhappy or upset, which bothered me a little. Even when in the rain, he never seems to be disturbed by the rain pattering into his eyes and into his hair, soaking her scalp. No one really knows him, I guess, since no one offered his an umbrella or yelled for his to come into the shelter.

Again, I see his, walking in the rain. He never stops and he never turns around. I decide to call out for him.

“Excuse me! Do you need an umbrella?” I yell, still under the shelter.

Trying hard not to step out into the rain, I hold my umbrella out for him. He stops, finally, and turns, so that I could see his blank face curve into a mysterious smile. The smile was brief before he turns around once more and walks into the rain, disappearing through the gathered fog.

I have never prayed for it to rain, but now I did.