Finding myself

Part 6

●●●

The sky seems gloomy. Who would have thought that something as colourless as water could make clouds so dark. It has started to drizzle now. I tried to rub condensed water droplets on the glassy wall of the store that I just bought food from, to get a clear view of the busy street ahead.

Soon it will turn into an endless music of droplets hitting window panes, rooftops and tree-leaves; just like an old radio coming to life.

For young couples, it's an occasion to express their love. For elderly, it's a bitter sweet memory but for me it's just a wet playground. I hate the rain, i hate it with my whole heart!

I just decided to go back home under this heavy rain, i don't have the energy to walk, but I dont have the energy to stay there as well.

I don't get it? Why did everyone love this? The rain, the gray, the wet streets? To me, it was acid on my brain, eating the petals of whatever fragile hope still grew inside me.

I shoved my hands in my pocket as i saunter in the soft rain, small pellets of water spitting on my hands as remainder of the drops quench the scattered puddles that decorate the asphalt.

I'm trying my best to ignore those stupid memories, but..

It's hard!

Eight Years Ago

The sky had been gloomy then, the air in our little living room was charged with tension. My mother's voice cut through it all, sharp.

"I'M DONE, I CAN'T TAKE IT ANYMORE!"

Her eyes, red-rimmed and glinting, terrified me at my small age.

My father's gaze was fixed somewhere beyond her, unreadable.

"It would have been kinder to kill me... " He paused, choking on words.

"You promised me love," he said finally, voice quiet now. "You said you would accept me as I am. And then... one sunny day... you decided you were in love with another man. Is this what I deserve?"

"You don't understand, and you will never, this is not the life I was ment to have, I cannot take it anymore"

I was too young to fully understand

they were ending. My parents' love, the home I knew, it shattered, not with a bang but with a slow, suffocating sigh.

I remember the rain that evening. My mother left first, tears soaking her coat, leaving behind only the faint scent of her perfume, bitter-sweet, clinging to the walls.

My father stared at the empty street outside, the drizzle washing away his silence. I stood in the doorway, soaked, tiny and powerless, watching the final thread of what had been whole fray away.

○○○

Now, I found myself wandering, aimless, under the same kind of rain. I had taken the long way home, letting my feet choose their path. And then, something caught my eye.

A narrow alley, tucked between a coffee shop and a shuttered bakery, with a small wooden sign swinging gently in the drizzle. In delicate, faded script it read:

"Bibliothèque."

My little French lessons sparked recognition. A library? Here? Huh? I squinted, curiosity overtaking fatigue.

I slipped inside, the air instantly warmer, scented with old paper, ink, and a faint hint of lavender. Dust motes danced in the soft light, the shelves stacked with volumes of all sizes, their spines lined like soldiers standing at attention.

And then I saw her.
An old woman, perched on a high stool, examining a delicate book through thick glasses. Her hair was a soft silver halo around her face, her skin lined with years, and her hands moved with surprising dexterity. She smelled faintly of bergamot and honey, her French accent gentle but rolling like distant waves.

"Bonjour, jeune fille," she said, voice lilting. "Vous cherchez quelque chose?"

I blinked, startled. "Uh... I... I just saw the sign. I wanted to see inside..."

Her eyes sparkled knowingly. "Ah... curiosity. The best companion for a rainy day."

I nodded, a small smile tugging at my lips. My curiosity turned into a kind of excitement I hadn't felt in a long time. My eyes wandered between shelves, fingers brushing over the spines of books, inhaling the musty, comforting scent of stories waiting to be told.

"Do you... like to read?" she asked, tilting her head.

"I... I think so,"