Paige closed her eyes and the day was just as clear as the water washing down her face. They were walking back from school one day, just like every other day, his bicycle lazing forward by his side. And the skies showered them with billions of water drops. He hated monsoons, she loved them. But rain hit them like a million harmless bullets and shelter was necessary. He hated monsoons, but there wasn’t enough space for two. So, he bullied her into standing under the shade and said, “Tell me one good thing about rains,” shivering and drenched. “I could give him a thousand,” she sighed, opening her eyes to the soft downpour.
Dacia looked down from the terrace. A car drove down the street below; slow. Identical streams of hot salty tears rolled down her moist skin as the sky thundered in pity. Before he broke her, before he ran away, before he left her hitting her own head, he had made love to her true – in a similar night, behind the condensed glasses of his car. And she knew, for those few seconds, he had loved her. So, she closed her eyes and said, “Today, I’ll let you go.”
Wind slapped across my face, cold and familiar. It whispered apologies for attacking us the other day, ages ago. We were sitting on the esplanade by the beach. The sky growled louder and louder as she mated with the sea. And I couldn’t hear him. It wasn’t necessary. He couldn’t hear me. He didn’t need to. Maybe I should have listened when I could, maybe he should have tried to tell me, when he could. Love was silent then, and dead now. I had mistaken you for two lovers in the rain, Wind said. Sigh. In another life, mate.
Paige, Dacia, I; Regret, Forgiveness, Hope. Three best friends went on their yearly pilgrimage to the terrace to greet Rain. They let the first showers wash away the regrets, the memories, the pain. At least Rain visited every year, without fail.
The wet girl in bows