Thunderstorm

Chapter 1

How much time do we need to know the person? One second to remember the name, an hour to learn the nature, a week to figure out the habits, a month to become friends, a year to fall in love, a life to forget. Thousands of stories pass us by every day. Stories of strangers. How much time are you ready to spend for a stranger to listen to his story? Not much, I guess. I don't blame you. It's same here for me. But I could never know this story if I didn't get the chance to witness it. Lucky me.

It was a summer evening, the one that people wait forward to escape from suffocating heat of the day. The one that brings the necessary amount of shadows to kill scorching rays and provide shelter to those in need. The one that is in one step from the thunderstorm and pouring rain though people have almost forgotten the feeling of the refreshing drops falling from the sky and a gentle wind those go in pairs.

She crosses the street at a leisure pace as there are no cars in sight. Truth to be told the absence of heavy traffic wasn't that big a deal. It was a small town where people prefer overcome their destination on foot or cycling the narrow streets. Cars were used only for heavy loads or groceries. These amusements never occur on Sundays which is just happened to be. She aims to occupy the last spot on the terrace of her favorite cafe. Not that she was provided with a choice of many cafes in the town to pick the best of them. It is this or the eatery with a dubious clientele on the road taking away the guests of the town or teenagers who earned their chance to get an education far away from this place where never anything worthwhile happened. However, she cares about the town and thinks of it as a cozy and peaceful place hidden from the unexpected visits and vice. Nevertheless, the rare tourists occur to disturb the everyday routine, most of the citizen, who prefers to be in the know, are aware of who exactly it will be in advance. This information is always provided by a chatty and newsmonger owner of the only inn in the town where every newcomer chooses to stay.

A sudden sound of the incoming message distracts her from the inviting coolness of the lounge chair towards which she is heading. She peeks on the blocked screen of her phone to read the notification. She will deal with it later. She looks up to register an unexpected stranger was sitting in her chair.

"Fuck." Did she say it loud? "Fuck, fuck, fuck." She makes sure that the last three curses were muted.

"Excuse me?" asks the stranger with a playful half-smile that barely touches the arch of his lips though his eyes betray well.

"His eyes are of the color of thunderstorm clouds." She thinks. "This is my chair." She says aloud. It sounded more like a demand though she didn't want to appear demanding. "Pardon my language. I just didn't expect someone be sitting here. I should go." She turns around to recede although she clearly doesn't want to leave so soon. Not without having an ice-cold drink at first.

"Stay," this offer doesn't occur demanding, just very tempting. "I've just come, but I'll be happy to share another chair with you. Please." He points at the spot opposite the other side of the round table. "I'm alone, so you won't interrupt anything. Only if you don't think I will annoy you."

"Not at all. But I must warn you I'm here seeking some quite and refreshments."

"That works just fine for me. We can sit in silence if you like it more." He suggests with the pliability of a gentleman and receives a quick nod in return.

"What would you like to drink?" Asks the stranger politely as soon as the waiter appears to take an order.

"Long Island Ice Tea, please."

"Gin. No ice. What?" He asks noticing her raised eyebrow in amazement.

"Nothing. It's just the middle of summer, and I'm surprised that you don't want ice in your drink."

"I don't need it." He simply answers.

She returns to her phone and the never-ending flow of messages and notifications. When the beverages are served in no time, she detects him looking straight at her.

"What would you say if tomorrow will be raining?" He caught her by surprise. It is such an odd question. The sort of you can't give a monosyllabic answer. This question asks for an opinion, for a confession and he wants to talk about the weather by all means.

"Do you suppose I am interested in small talks about the weather? It's such a cliche, don't you find?" Somebody got up on the wrong side of the bed. Why am I so crabby today? She thinks.

"Don't you like rain?" He answers a question with a question disregarding her harshness. The smile that could entail trouble doesn't leave his face throughout the conversation.

"Actually, I do."

He lifts his glass with gin, leans back in the chair and begins to examine the blue sky that's remained clear for the last two months and according to the weather forecast will stay suchlike so much longer without a chance even for the slightest cloudiness. Only now she notices how exotic his appearance is. His face is with high cheekbones and slightly tanned skin, full lips and almond-shaped eyes of a deep blue color, a pointy chin and the long hair of the rich dark raven tinge tangled in a knot. Everything about him makes his appearance wild and wolfish. He smells of pines and ice. Or maybe it is the liquid in his glass? He radiates danger like an impending storm, but she feels herself at ease next to him. Where did he come from? The last town visitors left a month ago, and it wasn't the best weather conditions for a desire to travel here.

"Why are you here?" She asks.

"And you?" He answers without looking away from the sky.

"I find very annoying your habit to answer a question with a question."

He leans forward and looks her right in the eye. "I find very annoying you hiding here. Annoying and wasteful."

He sounds like a stalker. She jumps to her feet and begins to rummage in her backpack in search of money to pay for her drink.

"I better go." She puts $10 on the table and hurries away. He catches her wrist in an attempt to make her stay. She shrugs. His touch is freezing, sending tingles and goosebumps all over her skin. It is like a cold shower after debilitating heat. At that very moment, she wishes he never lets her go.

He releases her hand. His face reflects pain and sorrow; his eyes are full of anguish. Has she caused this whirlpool of emotions? This realization makes her freeze for a moment.

"As soon as the first raindrop meets the sizzling hot land, you will remember everything you tried to forget. Tomorrow the rain will pour. Today the thunderstorm has come."

"What kind of a messy prediction is this?" She starts with her caustic response in defense and desire to get hold of her trembling hands.

"Are you OK, miss?" The waiter appears behind her with the full tray of cold beverages. She stands in the middle of the aisle, and she is a frightened obstacle on his way.

"Yeah. I'm - I'm OK. Pardon me. I just was talking to this man." She turns around to take a look at the stranger, but he isn't there.

"What man?" inquires the waiter. "You came alone."

"What do you mean alone? He sat over here and ordered gin without ice. Don't you remember?" She points at the table where she spent the last hour leading a conversation with a weird guy. $10 bill and the only one glass with the remains of liquid blended with melted ice cubes are on the table.

"Fuck." Did she say it loud?