Spring Rain: Of Love and Train-Wrecks

She sat on the patio, admiring how the dew magnificently sparkled on the blades of grass on their front lawn. It was spring time, her favorite time of the year. Each year, she goes back to this happy little girl she used to be; away from the people who hurt her. It was something she wasn’t used to feel. Every time spring time is near, she can feel herself transforming.

She looked up and saw how lazily the sun shone, just right in between the houses across theirs. It illuminated spots on her face, and the subtle warmth gave her another nostalgic feeling.

Inhaling the fresh breeze that went past her, she felt her head whirl in anticipation. Her mother used to rock her back and forth on the ‘swinging chair’ where it used to be, just right where she is, and sing her lullabies until she falls asleep. Then, with her frail arms, she would carry her little baby back inside and tuck her in.

That was back when her mother was still with her.

It was those memories that gave her the only tears she would dare shed outside her room. Most of the time, she was too afraid to cry in public, because crying means she is weak.

And she can’t be weak, not now.

She wiped the almost-formed tear from her right eye and inhaled once again, trying to clear her head.

And just like that, a slight drizzle started falling. She felt the warm wind take a strong turn into a mixture of humid and cold. And as it started taking into a crescendo, the droplets ever so slowly started getting bigger. But she did not go inside, not a distinct plan on her mind to take it indoors.

She wanted to stay outside, maybe feel the rain on her body once more. She didn’t want to go.

Then, it started pouring. So she smiled. Because despite how people call her emotionless, cold, and stone-like, she loved the feeling of rain on her bare skin. The pattering of it on concrete sounds like music to her. Rain strips her down to who she really is, a young girl. Simply that.

She looked ahead when she heard a whistled tune. It’s not like not many people pass their house, but the tune was distinctively familiar. And it made her heart leap like it did once, a few weeks ago.

And not many people walk in the rain whistling a happy tune. No.

So, she was just subtly surprised when she saw him walking along the sidewalk, his head tilted upwards so that his face meets the falling rain. His eyes, his overly-hued hazel eyes, were closed as he walked. His hands were buried deep into his pockets. He was barefooted, and his thin, cotton shirt was soaked altogether with his body.

She felt the need to tell him that he’d hit a tree if he continued walking, and so she did.

“Hey!”

He stopped on his tracks, opened his eyes to see that he was inches from the wet bark of a huge tree, then turned his head to see the girl sitting on her patio, almost as water-logged as he was. He smiled.

And, God, she hated that smile because it sends her stomach into a tumultuous convulsion, a thing she can’t explain. His eyes were just slits, shielding themselves from the rain, but nevertheless, she can tell that he was looking right at her.

“Hey,” he said in return, his scratchy voice finding its way to her ears even with the strong pattering of the rain. “Are you trying to catch a cold?”

She chuckled lightly, finding it funny that she was about to ask him that, too.

“What are you doing?” she asked in reply, smiling now.

Suddenly, it was like he was put on pause as he stared at her, his smile faltering. Then, he snapped out of it.

“Walking in the rain,” he said, a light tone of indifference in his voice, “but some people may see it as ‘taking a bath’. Not that I haven’t.”

She grinned again, wider than her first.

His bare feet took him closer to her picket fence; he leaned on them and smiled again. And no matter how many times she saw that beaming face, it still sent her insides spiraling into a mush.

Her own feet brought her closer to the picket fence, too. Like they had their own mind for a few seconds then.

As she approached, his breath hitched in his throat. He had to swallow to prevent himself from choking.

Shaking his head, he said, “I’m sorry.”

“What? Why?” she asked.

“About last week. I was trying to… I was being a jerk… I—”

“Last week was nothing.”

His eyes became serious all of a sudden. “I hurt you.”

Yes he did, she thought. But it was nothing to the amount of pain she used to endure. And quite frankly, he was last on her list of people who she think would apologize to her. This was a surprise.

“Why are you doing this?” she asked again, needing the immediate answer.

He was a train-wreck, and no matter how hard he racked his brain up, he was just blankly staring at her. He knew how bad a person he is, and how hurt she looked when he said those things to her in front of the whole school, but letting her say it was nothing was hurting him more.

“Why are you doing this?” she asked once more, staring now at his eyes like the answer was there.

He did not answer. Instead, he jumped over the picket fence and faced her. Taking her waist by his hands, he trapped her. But it was just gentle, why was she petrified like he was holding her tightly?

He fought every urge, but fighting a losing battle isn’t always that pleasant because his mind shut down and his heart took over instead.

Wrapping her inside his arms, he pulled her in and their lips met. At first, she was not moving, but as they coincidentally took their breaths at the same time, she gave in and tangled his wet hair with her hands.

Maybe it was the rain, or maybe not, but she felt calm and peaceful kissing him. Like it was just natural.

And when they pulled away, she was smiling. 

The ice in his heart melted away looking at how she reacted.

“Can that be my answer?”