97th Time

We're not alone.

The torrential rain poured relentlessly, as if the heavens themselves were weeping in sync with her sorrow. She stood solitary in the midst of the deluge, a lone figure braving the elements like a soldier with a broken rifle, weathered by both the storm outside and the tempest within. Every raindrop that struck the ground seemed to resonate with the heaviness in her heart, echoing the dissonance of emotions that lingered in the air.

I found myself inexplicably drawn to this poignant scene, an observer caught in the ebb and flow of her turmoil. A strange sensation tugged at me, a guilt that felt like an invisible weight trying to claw its way out from the depths of my being. I watched from a distance, the rhythmic blink of her eyes punctuating the downpour—a futile attempt to wash away the tears that mingled with the raindrops, as if the very heavens conspired to expose her inner grief.

Hours slipped by like fleeting shadows, time an inconsequential entity in the face of such raw emotion. I wondered about her story, the origin of her profound sorrow, and the reason behind her unyielding vigil beneath the gray curtain of rain. Weeks stretched into weeks, and still, every Sunday at the stroke of 3:00 o'clock in the afternoon, she would stand there, a silent sentinel in the rain.

It struck me as odd how the weather seemed to tailor itself to her emotional state. I recalled the last time I had seen her, when the sun had cast its scorching rays upon the earth with an intensity that would drive anyone to seek refuge in the shade. Yet, she had stood there, unaffected by the searing heat, as though her inner turmoil shielded her from the physical discomfort of the world around her. There was a certain enigma to her expression—a lack of expression, really—as if the weight of her sorrow had hollowed her out, leaving only the remnants of a soul shattered by an unfathomable sorrow.

Rumors began to circulate through the neighborhood, whispers that attempted to unravel the mystery of the girl in the rain. Some said she was mourning a lost love, while others speculated that she was waiting for a departed family member to return. But no matter the conjecture, no one could deny the palpable aura of grief that surrounded her, a cloud of sadness so profound that it felt as if it originated from a realm beyond human comprehension.

"Should I approach her?" The question lingered in my mind, a silent debate echoing within my consciousness. The connection I felt with the girl in the rain seemed to pull me towards her, but uncertainty held me back. The rain continued its symphony, each drop a reminder of the unspoken emotions that bound us together.

As I stood there, torn between action and hesitation, destiny seemingly made its move. A rushing car materialized across the street, hurtling towards her path. Panic surged through me like a lightning bolt, dispelling my indecision. Instinct took over, and without a second thought, I lunged towards her, propelling her onto the safety of the sidewalk.

My heart raced, adrenaline coursing through my veins as I caught my breath. "Are you crazy? The car almost hit you!" I exclaimed, my words a mixture of relief and concern. She remained silent, her gaze fixed on the ground as if the world around her had faded into insignificance. I noticed bruises on her right arm and cheek, souvenirs of the collision with the unforgiving pavement. A twinge of guilt tugged at me—had I pushed her too forcefully? But logic reminded me that a bruise was better than the alternative fate she narrowly escaped.

With a slow and deliberate grace, she rose from the ground, retrieving her shattered umbrella, an emblem of the fragments that composed her existence. Tears welled in her eyes once more, their unshed weight heavy like the rain-soaked clouds above. And yet, she uttered not a single word, as if her voice had been claimed by the storm that enveloped her.

Dark circles framed her eyes, like shadows etched by sleepless nights. She resembled a living paradox—alive, yet submerged in a sea of detachment. As she began to move away from me, every step appeared mechanical, devoid of the vitality that should have pulsed within her veins. She was a contradiction—an ethereal beauty, trapped in a labyrinth of desolation.

Watching her retreating figure, the urge to bridge the chasm between us intensified. I followed her, my footsteps echoing through the symphony of rain. I spoke softly, my voice a whisper against the backdrop of falling drops, "Are you alright?"

She turned her gaze towards me, her eyes reflecting a universe of pain and isolation. Still, words eluded her, and the gulf between us seemed as vast as the one that separated the rain from the earth. She appeared as though on the cusp of being consumed by her own silence.Her damp clothing clung to her body, the coldness of the rain slowly seeping into her bones. It was as if the solitude she harbored within was freezing her from the inside out—a chilling reminder of the isolation that had become her constant companion.

And so, without a plan or premeditation, I offered my hand to her. An invitation, a gesture of connection amidst the downpour. The rain continued to pour, the world around us awash in the symphony of water meeting earth. In that moment, beneath the gray sky and within the embrace of the storm, two broken souls stood—linked by an unspoken understanding, a shared sorrow, and the faint glimmer of hope that human connection can ignite even in the darkest of times.

As the weeks turned into months, my curiosity evolved into a deep-seated empathy for the girl in the rain. I felt a connection with her that defied rational explanation—a shared understanding of the pain that words could never adequately convey. And so, I made a choice. One Sunday, armed with nothing more than a raincoat and an umbrella, I stood beside her.

Her eyes, weary from the weight of her unspoken sorrow, met mine. There, beneath the downpour that had come to symbolize her grief, a fragile connection was forged. We stood side by side, two strangers united by the storms within us—hers a tempest of sorrow, mine a maelstrom of unspoken guilt.

In that moment, the rain transformed from a relentless deluge into a cleansing balm, as if nature itself conspired to help us release the pent-up emotions that had held us captive. Our silent companionship spoke volumes, a shared solace that transcended words. And as we stood there, two broken souls seeking refuge in the rain, the healing power of connection became evident—the kind of connection that bridges the gaps between us and reminds us that even in our darkest moments, we are not alone.