𝐔𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐑𝐚𝐢𝐧 ❘❘ 𝒌.𝒕𝒉

1- 𝑺𝒑𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒊𝒏 𝑾𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒓

I saw him again, under the rain, the same as always.

We both stood opposite to each other, holding our umbrellas in one hand. He had his other hand in his pocket while he stared forward, not blinking, not making any other facial expressions as he stood in the pouring rain. 

He waited for the bus, but he never went on it.

When the traffic lights turned red, I walked across the sidewalk with other individuals who were holding umbrellas as well. They all were going somewhere, someplace, as was I. When I took the bus, there was someplace I needed to be. The man in front of me never went anywhere, so he never had any place to be.

He wore a long medium brown coat, as always. A beige scarf around his neck, and long pants with dress shoes. He wore the same outfit everyday, when I saw him. He just stood in the street, head tilted to the right, like he was waiting. After a while, I realized that he wasn't waiting for the bus, so I assumed this much; he was waiting for someone.

But that someone never came.

I saw him everyday I went on the bus, but I never saw him when sun shinned. When it rained, he was there. When the clouds parted and the sky was blue, he was gone. Weeks passed with the same pattern. He stood, under the rain by the bus stop, waiting for someone. The someone never came. He waited, still.

Every time, I'd stand next to him, and when the bus came, I'd get on and he only stood in front of it, not bothering to get on. He didn't even look at the bus. His head remained turned to the right, scanning the pouring street, looking for that someone. When I sat down, I watched him through the window. He still was standing there, face sullen, under the pouring rain, waiting.

Maybe that someone was something. The question circled me when I was at work, at home, or at any place. What was this man waiting for? It wasn't any of my business, but still, it was intriguing how he never moved from that same spot, in the same clothes and only stood outside when the rain poured. What did the rain have to do with it all?

It was December, the time for snow, but this year, it was raining. Almost every other day, it rained. Not a snowflake in sight. I had a few friends complain about it, saying that rain was unnatural for the Winter, but I didn't mind. Rain was better then snow, in my opinion. Rain also meant, that I could see him more.

He was a young man, around in his 20's, I believe. I never got his facial features, I'd never get the courage to look at him in the face. He was quite tall, though. When I stood next to him, I was around to just below his shoulder. He probably had long legs under those baggy clothing. I can see, that his longish hair was a dark brown color, almost black.

I could take side glances to him, and notice his long, slender fingers wrapped around the handle of his black umbrella. His hand would make movement once and a while, tapping his fingers against the handle like he was getting impatient. The plip-plops of all the rain hitting our umbrellas were quite satisfying. Sometimes, I closed my eyes, and listened to the soothing sounds. It was like music coming into my ears. This was another reason I loved the rain.

The same routine of the stranger went on for a while. He showed up always before me, standing in the rain.

When the time came that I went to take the bus home, even if it was raining, he wasn't there. He was gone by the time I was there.

𝑫𝒆𝒄𝒆𝒎𝒃𝒆𝒓 9𝒕𝒉, 11:00 𝒂𝒎

Today, it was pouring extra hard. And I meant extra hard.

I heaved, trying to grudge through the windstorm to the other side of the sidewalk. Not only was it raining harshly, but the wind was blowing hard as well. I saw a few people lose and chase after their umbrellas in the rain. I clutched even tighter to my purple umbrella, not wanting to lose it.

My morning hadn't been the best, for waking up late was always a struggle when you wake up 15 minutes before you were supposed to leave. I had to be at work soon, and if I didn't hurry, I was going to be late. I didn't even have time for coffee or a cup of tea, which was the worst of all.

I did manage to cross the street, and stand at my usual position beside the man. I wondered if he noticed me, and noticed that I stood next to him every time. It might sound weird, but I felt comfortable standing next to him then any of the other people who hang out at the bus stop. Today, though, it was just me and him.

Suddenly, he made an abrupt cough, and I almost jumped, for I never had heard him make a sound before. It was gruff and low, obviously a man's voice. He fell silent again, and monitored the right side of the sidewalk again, waiting.

The bus came in around five minutes. I always tried to be early or just in time for the bus, to get to my work. Thankfully, this time I was going to be okay. My hand loosened off my umbrella a bit as I checked my watch for the time. Bad mistake. The umbrella flew out of my grasp, and I gasped, reaching for it.

I watched helplessly, as the familiar slender fingers wrapped around my purple umbrella, grabbing on to it tightly and handing it to me.