𝐔𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐑𝐚𝐢𝐧 ❘❘ 𝒌.𝒕𝒉

8- 𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒚

𝑴𝒂𝒓𝒄𝒉 2𝒏𝒅٫ 11:00 𝒂𝒎

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

He was dressed in all white, making him stand out from the crowd waiting for the bus. He wore a bright orange beanie as well, accompanying the black umbrella he held in his left hand, his other shoved in his pocket. He kept a straight face and tapped his foot impatiently, waiting for the bus to arrive.

He was a rather strange man, I thought.

I stood across the street and waited for the lights to change. As they did, I walked across the crosswalk with other individuals holding umbrellas the same as me and him. I was going on the bus, to work. So did he. When we both got on the bus, he sat in the corner and pulled out his white notepad, scribbling a bunch of things in it furiously. He got off before me, at a corner where a recording studio was, I noticed.

I saw him everyday, except when it wasn't raining.

That was the interesting part.

In early March, it was raining again. It almost rained every day. Last December, there was very interesting weather and it rained more then it snowed. My friends still complained about it, but I didn't mind it all with rain.

Today, March 2nd, I waited for the bus with him. Today it rained. I stood next to him, because I felt a certain comfortableness that was unexpected with him, even though I didn't know him at all.

He was on the shorter side, just a little taller than my height. Dark brown hair peeked within that orange beanie of his. This morning, he seemed to be muttering something over and over, and tapping his fingers to the beat, like he was trying to make up something. It was rather intriguing and strange, but I tried my best to be polite and not stare.

In my right hand, I carried the book Rebecca, that I had bought myself. I intended to read it again during my break at work. The rain poured down on us gently, giving us a merciful tone rather than some other days in pure chaos.

Rain reminded me of someone I met last December. He was a kind man who taught me a lot about life and especially literature. Now, Rebecca was my favorite book and I read it three times already. The copy he let me months ago, suddenly vanished, after I saw him one last time, mysteriously. I couldn't find it, no matter how long I looked for it. But then I knew. He was gone, and therefore everything he carried was gone as well.

I kind of missed him, sometimes.

"Shit!"

Suddenly next to me, the man in white cried out, as I saw his umbrella fly away from him in the rain. In an instant, I reached out for it and grabbed it. A feeling rushed through me, a feeling of familiarity. I had been in this situation, a long time ago.

"Mister..." I extended it towards him. He heaved out a sigh and took it back, relived. "Thank you." He said genuinely, bowing to me.

"No problem." I faced forward again.

"Excuse me?"

I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned around, and the man was looking at me, and the book I was carrying in my hands.

"I'm sorry to be noisy, or something like that, but is that book happen to be Rebecca, by Daphne Du Maurier?" He asked me. He twiddled with his free fingers that weren't holding his umbrella and spoke in a fast pace, like time was running out.

"Yes, yes it is. Why do you ask?"

"Oh, it's just that..." he paused and collected himself. "I knew a friend a while ago who loved that book very much. It was one of his favorites, actually." He muttered. "It's just that that book reminds me of him a lot, and how much I miss him."

"It happens to be my favorite book, too." I smiled. "He must have loved books a lot to have a respectable taste in literature." I added. His gaze softened when I spoke that sentence.

"Thats so funny." He chuckled. "He used to say that too. 'A respectable piece of literature,' he'd call it. You know," his eyes scanned me. "You do remind me of him."

"Maybe it's just a unusual coincidence."

"Maybe so." He smiled. "My name's Min Yoongi. I work as a composer down in the city."

"It's nice to meet you." I stuck out my hand and he shook it, as the rain kept pouring down on us. "Pardon the strange question, but I've seen you around here once or twice and you always seem to wait for the bus on rainy days. Maybe I'm just paranoid or..."

"No, no, you're right. I do come here on rainy days for a reason. Its got to do with my friend again. He used to love the rain so much, he'd intentionally go out when the forecast called out rainy days. He was a writer, and he told me he liked to write when it rained. It helped him focus a lot."

"I see. Does he live around here?"

"No. He used to, though. You see..." he paused. I could see the emotions running through him, when he spoke the next few words softly.

"he died, a long time ago, in a car accident."

His eyes glazed over and he looked up at the sky. "The ironic part? He died in the rain, right here in the city. I was devastated."

"I'm so sorry to hear that." I mumbled. He shook his head, offering a smile at me. "No, it's fine, really. His death was unexpected. You know, he had a daughter, adopted, but I never knew what happened to her. She should be around in her late teens I believe. He only had adopted her a few weeks before his death. I never really got to know her."

I chuckled softly.

The sounds of the vehicle we waited for approached us. Soon it stopped, and the doors opened. Yoongi looked at me. "Getting on, miss?" I nodded.

As we walked on, I asked him another question.

"Mind if I ask you something?"

"Now that we are acquainted, miss, I don't see why not."

"What was his name, the man who died?"

"Oh, his name? Kim Taehyung, that was his name. He's published a few works in his lifetime as a writer, I'm sure you could find him somewhere."

"I see." We both walked on the bus and sat next to each other. Outside, the rain poured even harder then before.

Now, rain isn't depressing, like how most people assume it to be. Rain is cold, dark, but somewhat comforting to those with a quiet mind, rather than being in the sun. I blend in with the rain and almost become it. It's been a part of me for a while.

For a second, I thought I saw him again, wearing the same overcoat and solemn expression, blankly staring to the right, waiting for his little girl to return home from school. But he wasn't there. It was in my head, of course.

In my head, I felt a bit of happiness and sadness, at the same time.

And now I knew for sure.

Now I stood under the rain, in his place, same as always.

—-

The end