Under the Rain

Six

I slipped into the bright red dress. Nah! Too exposing. I put on the blue, doesn't suit me. I picked the yellow, yuck! Why ever did I buy that?

Frustrated, I dived onto my bed and stared at the ceiling. Time is running out. The doorbell would ting at any moment. I glimpsed hopelessly at my overflowing closet when I spotted the beautiful black dress.

"Pretend you don't have any other dress for today," I told myself so that I don't change my whimsical mind about the black dress immediately after pulling it on.

In the mirror, it looked nice. I lightened up. Brushing through my shoulder-length brunette hair that matched the color of my eyes, smearing some red lipstick, drawing on some eyeliner, I pinched my cheeks and waited.

I didn't like revealing clothes. I always preferred, even as a frivolous teenager, descent, presentable yet 'inexplicably gorgeous' attires. To do nothing, but be irresistible at the same time is attractive enough.

Clutching my black Brynn Capella, I fell into the sofa and glanced at the clock by the kitchen door. Three more minutes. I leaned aside to fish out 'the Scarlett letter.' A book I never had enough time to complete.

I noticed the silver chain across my chest. I touched it, and a tinge of assuredness clashed with my nervousness. The chain was mundane, but it always had that monstrous effect on me. like nothing could go wrong now. In fact, it used to be the lucky charm for me when I was a kid. Every time I see it, I could hear it rambling about my childhood memories that were inscribed on to it. But the most incredulous fact about it was its return. And its mode. How did he find it? had he come, thieving my childhood house too? Why would he return it? Everything, the burglary, Sugar, this jewelry, and somehow, even Stiles, the way he spoke of him, seemed to be interrelated. And the harder I tend to unknot the mystery, the more impossible it turns out to be.

A 'ting tong' echoing through the apartment conflagrated my train of thoughts. I stole one last look at the mirror and darted out of the room.

I was nearly 22 then. But I never had been in a relationship. I had been asked out a few times, back in high school but they were never of my taste. I was more of a self-cocooned, quiet sort of girl that no one knows much about, except that she has one or two close friends, always wears simple clothes, and that she reads a lot of books. The thing was that, fleeting, short-lived, unserious teen relationships weren't appealing to me. I was looking for more. Or more pointedly, I was looking for a relationship where my first kiss would be my last.

Stiles, however, was not himself that evening. Or maybe, that was his true self. He was preoccupied, pensive, uneasy, and constantly cursing. A side of him I had never discovered before. As if, not out of self-desire, but out of mere compulsion, he had offered to take me out for the night. When we had got out of his ford, him being extremely irritable, I asked if something was the matter.

He had pasted the fakest smile, and robotically said, "Why? Don't I look all right?"

The movie was a disaster. It was about a 70-year-old man who literally sits at the exact same position throughout the movie, doing nothing but wondering about the improbability of life and death. Yes. Perfect for a first date. Everything about it was bizarre, the script, the music, the monotony, the choreography, at least to me. When I had glanced at Stiles to see how he was coping up, he was engrossed.

He had relished every moment of it. I didn't disclose my unfavorable opinion about the movie. In case I spoilt his recovered mood again, but at least wished him to understand the discomfort of his partner, sitting right next to him, even if it led to no alteration. I wished I could have been anywhere else than right there, at that unending moment.