“The Last Rain”

The rain began slowly at first, a gentle drizzle that seemed almost comforting. But as the hours passed, it grew heavier, darker. The sky shifted from a soft gray to an ominous black, clouds rolling in like waves crashing against the shore. The wind picked up, whipping the rain in all directions. Thunder cracked in the distance, followed by the steady roar of lightning. This wasn’t just rain—it was a storm. And it wasn’t the kind of rain I remembered her enjoying. This wasn’t the soft, soothing kind she used to love. This was a downpour, heavy and unforgiving.

I stood on the roof, alone, feeling the chill of the storm seep into my bones. I didn’t care. The water dripped down my face and soaked my clothes, but I stayed where I was. I couldn’t move, not yet. I needed this. I needed the rain, even if it was angry and cold. Even if it no longer felt like the comforting thing it once had.

She used to say that rain was the earth crying. It was a foolish belief, I used to think, but I never argued. She had always found comfort in that thought, saying the rain told the truth, no matter how painful. “The rain never lies,” she used to say with that soft smile of hers. “It always speaks the truth.” Those words stuck with me. For years, I believed in them too. But now, standing there in the middle of the storm, I felt nothing but betrayal. The rain didn’t seem like the truth anymore. It felt like a lie. It felt empty.

My body trembled, not just from the cold, but from something deeper. Something heavier. I had never felt so alone. The rain had always been a shared thing, a memory we built together. But now, it was just the rain, and I.

I looked around, watching people rush by, huddling under umbrellas, scurrying into shops, trying to find shelter from the storm. I could hear their voices faintly through the roar of the rain, their laughter, their complaints. But I didn’t join them. I couldn’t. There was no comfort to be found in the warmth of shelter. There was no escape from the feeling that had taken root deep inside me. The feeling of loss.

I thought back to the days when we would sit together on rainy afternoons, our feet curled up under a blanket, watching the rain fall. She would smile, her eyes bright with excitement. She loved it when it rained. The sound of the droplets tapping against the windows, the way the world seemed to pause for a moment, quieted by the storm. She always said it was nature’s way of cleansing the earth, of telling the truth. And I believed her.

But that was before the storm of my life hit. That was before I lost her.

I swallowed hard, feeling the lump in my throat grow with every passing second. I wanted to cry. I wanted to scream out her name, to shout to the heavens, asking why she had to be taken so soon. But I couldn’t. I stood there in silence, letting the cold rain drench me to the core, because somehow, it felt like the only thing left that was real.

The wind howled around me, tugging at my clothes, but I didn’t move. My thoughts drifted back to the last conversation we had, the last time I saw her smile. I could almost hear her voice in my mind, calling me inside, telling me to stop standing in the rain. She would have hated this, seeing me out here like this, lost in the storm.

But I couldn’t leave. I couldn’t run away. The storm outside was the only thing that seemed to match the storm inside me. The only thing that felt real.

I closed my eyes, letting the rain pour over me. I remembered the sound of her laughter, the way she would dance in the rain, twirling around with no care in the world. I could almost see her now, her face bright with joy, arms outstretched to the sky. She had loved the rain. And in some strange way, I thought if I stood there long enough, the rain might bring her back to me. But it didn’t.

It never did.

The storm raged on, relentless, unforgiving. My clothes clung to me, heavy with the weight of water, but I didn’t care. The world felt still, except for the storm. The rain fell in torrents, a constant reminder of the emptiness I felt. I tried to hold onto the memory of her, to hold onto the belief that the rain was speaking the truth, but it felt like a distant echo. A memory that was slipping further and further away with each passing minute.

Finally, as the storm began to ease, I slowly turned away. The rain had softened into a gentle drizzle, the clouds breaking apart to let in a glimpse of the pale sky. But even as the storm faded, the emptiness remained. The world around me seemed quieter now, but nothing felt the same. The truth the rain had once held was no longer there.

I walked back inside slowly, my feet heavy with the weight of everything I couldn’t say, everything I couldn’t change. The storm had passed, but the pain remained. The rain had stopped, but the silence lingered.