The house where the rain never stops

When Elliot first saw the house, he wasn’t looking for anything. Or so he tried to tell himself.

That autumn morning, his shoes were heavy with mud as he walked along the forest path. His scarf was covered in wet mist, and each step felt like he had been walking for centuries. The camera bag slung over his shoulder—a memory of a time when taking pictures meant understanding life, keeping it alive.

His therapist had said that walking would release sadness.

“Go back to nature, Elliot. The rain inside you will slowly stop.”

But Elliot didn’t want to let go of the sadness. That sadness was his last connection to Ginger. His wife, the other half of his life, had died in a car accident three months earlier, leaving him alone. The smile he had last captured in the camera lens was now a part of his memory.

He was looking for a place to hide. He wanted to hide from those faces that looked at him with eyes full of sympathy. He wanted to hide from those memories that stuck to him like wet leaves stuck to his body, trapping him in the web of reality.

Just then, a whisper came into the air.

"There is a house where the rain never stops."

Who said that? Elliot looked around. No one was there. Only green trees, the rustling of leaves, and a thin layer of fog. Maybe it was his own imagination. Maybe it was the music of the wind. Maybe—

As Elliot turned the corner, the house caught his eye.

An old cottage covered in a sheet of green moss. Thatched roof, cracked window panes, vines climbing the walls. It seemed as if this house had stood for centuries, witnessing time. Yet above the house was a strange sight—rain falling only on that house. Not a drop of water around. The rest of the sky was sunny, but above the house, as if a tiny cloud was pouring down a stream of rain.

Elliot blinked. Was he really seeing this, or was it an illusion?

He slowly walked towards the house. In front of the house was a small garden, filled with flowers he had never seen before. An unearthly beauty in a mixture of purple, blue, and red. The flowers seemed to dance to the rhythm of the rain, the water droplets on their petals sparkling in the light.

He stood under the porch, but did not knock on the door. It seemed that the house was breathing, like a living being.

Then, the incredible happened.

The door opened on its own, as if someone was calling softly.

Elliot hesitated for a moment. He reasoned with himself—perhaps it had opened due to the pressure of the wind. But there was no wind, only the soft sound of the rain.

Finally, he mustered up the courage and entered.

Inside the house there was the smell of old pages, the warmth of wood, and from somewhere the scent of lemon. Maybe it was just a memory. Ginger loved the scent of lemon. Ginger had used lemon perfume on the day they first met.

The inside of the house seemed much larger than the outside. It was as if the rules of space had been broken here. Surprisingly, there was no water dripping from the roof of the house, although the sound of rain could be heard clearly from outside. The walls were covered in a golden red glow, and there were various pictures hanging on them—deserted beaches, empty park benches, lone trees. Each picture had an emptiness, a lack.

Inside the house, right in the center, was a wooden chair—an old mirror in front of it. Elliot slowly walked towards it. The wooden frame of the mirror had strange symbols carved into it, like the script of an ancient language.

As Elliot stood in front of the mirror, his heart stopped.

In the mirror—not his reflection—was a girl. Her hair was long, waist-length, like waves in the ocean. Her eyes were like deep oceans, a gentle smile on her face. That smile—the one that came to Elliot’s dreams every day.

“Ginger?” Elliot whispered, his throat trembling.

The mirror turned gray and then clear again. The girl shook her head.

But how? The mirror only contains a reflection. But it was like a living being.

“Who are you?” Elliot asked.

The girl in the mirror moved her lips, but no words came out. She reached out her hand, as if to touch Elliot from the other side of the mirror. Elliot reached out his hand reluctantly.

As his finger touched the surface of the mirror, the mirror became liquid—like water. Elliot’s finger entered the mirror, and he felt the touch of a warm hand.

The girl on the other side of the mirror pulled her hand away. Elliot felt himself being pulled into the mirror. He stepped back in fear.

The mirror froze again. Sadness fell on the girl's eyes.

Elliot took a deep breath. What was happening to her? Had grief driven her crazy? Or was there really some supernatural force at work here?

He left the room and began to look around the rest of the house.

In each room of the house, there was a different kind of rain.

In one room—

a gentle spring rain was falling. Colorful streams of water were flowing down from the ceiling, falling to the floor like small flower petals. Elliot reached out and grabbed it—the water fell on his hands, but it didn't get wet. Just a feeling—like the first rain in spring.

In another room—a summer storm. Lightning, thunder, heavy rain—but it was all like a scene from a movie. Not real, but completely real in feeling. Elliot remembered that it was in such a storm that he and Ginger were first stuck together in a coffee shop. That night they had their first kiss.

In another room—a freezing cold winter rain. A mixture of ice and rain. Snowflakes were falling slowly, like bird feathers falling from the sky.

In every room there was rain of different seasons, rain of different feelings.

Each drop was like a memory. Each wall, an invisible album.

Elliot realized that this house was a repository of memories. All the memories that people do not want to forget. All the feelings that they want to keep with them. Some moments that are lost, but fall like rain in the heart forever.

This house never asks questions. It only listens.

He entered the last room. It was a small writing room. An old desk, a wooden chair, a bookshelf, and a pen-duet. On the table was a white paper, as if waiting for someone.

Elliot sat down. He touched the paper. It was not wet either, although fine water droplets were falling on it. He felt that he had to write something here. But what?

His hand automatically picked up the pen.

Elliot wrote a letter to Ada. On old paper.

Dear Ginger,

I know you are gone.

I know this letter will never reach you. But today, in this strange house, where the rain never stops, I feel you by my side.

I have had to learn to live without you. But I could not forget. I never wanted to forget. Because you have become a part of my being, Ginger. You are in every breath I take.

This house seems to have stopped time here. Just as my love for you stopped on the day you left.

If rain is the tears of heaven, then this house is a refuge for tears. And if memories are raindrops, then I am the owner of an ocean.

Waiting for you,

Eliot

Tears welled up in his eyes.

Finishing the letter, he folded it on the table. Suddenly he noticed that he was wearing the scarf that Ginger had given him last year. It was dry now, not as wet as before.

Eliot decided to stay in this house that night. He lay down on the floor, and began to hear the sound of rain...

The next morning, a few days later, he woke up and saw—the rain had stopped!

Light outside the house. Shadows of the sun on the grass in the forest.

Elliot couldn't believe it. He went outside.

And behind? No more houses. Only a huge field of wildflowers. Where did that house go? Where did that mirror go, that rain of feelings?

He still had the camera in his hand. Out of habit, he picked it up and went to take a picture of the field of flowers.

As soon as he took out the camera, a drop fell on the lens.

As he focused, Ginger's smile was reflected in the lens. As soon as he took the picture, the drop evaporated.

He saw on the camera screen—

Ginger standing in the middle of the field of flowers. She was wearing the blue dress that she had worn the last time she went for a walk with Elliot. She had a bunch of wildflowers in her hand, and that familiar smile in her eyes.

Elliot looked again—there was no one in the field. But in the picture, Ginger was there. As if he were there, behind an invisible veil.

Then, the rain inside his chest slowly began to stop.