Rain, You and Me

The rain started without warning. One minute the sky was quiet and clear, and the next, clouds covered the sun and the wind carried the smell of something old—wet earth, forgotten streets, and memories that lived just under the surface. I watched it from the small window of my apartment, holding a cup of tea that had already gone cold.

I didn’t mind. My thoughts were not on the tea. They were not even on the rain, really.

They were on you.

It had been seven years. Seven long years since we had last spoken, and even longer since we had seen each other in person. But every time it rained, I remembered that day.

You didn’t have an umbrella. I did. That was how it started.

You were standing under a bus stop roof, trying not to get wet, but your shoulders were already soaked. I offered to share mine, and you looked at me with a mix of surprise and something soft, like you had been waiting for someone but didn’t know it was me.

We walked together for just a few blocks. But in those few blocks, something changed. The rain was falling hard, but we were laughing. You told me your name, and I told you mine. We both agreed that rainy days were the best kind of days—quiet, honest, without the pressure to pretend.

You said something that stayed with me: “Rain doesn’t wash things away. It reminds us what’s still there.”

We met a few more times after that. Coffee shops, bookstores, walks through the park. Always simple places. Always real conversations. There was never a moment where we said we were more than friends. But in my heart, I knew. You were not just a passing face. You were something deeper. Something that made me feel seen.

Then life changed. You got a job offer in another country. I had family here that I couldn’t leave. There was no fight, no goodbye full of tears. Just a soft ending. A hug, a smile, and a “take care.” You walked away under a blue sky. But for me, it felt like rain.

Since then, time has passed like it always does. People came and went. I moved apartments. Got older. Grew quieter. But the memory of you stayed. It lived in the rain, like a shadow walking beside me whenever the sky turned gray.

Today, it rained again. Not heavy, just enough to make the world slow down. I put on my coat and stepped outside. No umbrella this time. I walked through the quiet streets, letting the drops fall on my face. Some people stared. Some rushed past me, annoyed by the weather. But I didn’t care.

Because for me, the rain is more than water.

It is a letter you never wrote. A song we never danced to. A goodbye we never really gave.

It is you.

I sometimes wonder if you remember that day. If rain makes you pause the way it does for me. Maybe it doesn’t. Maybe you’ve forgotten my name, my face, the way we walked so slowly like we had all the time in the world.

But I haven’t forgotten.

Because love doesn’t always look like fireworks and grand promises. Sometimes, it’s just a shared umbrella. A quiet laugh. A few blocks in the rain.

That’s all. And somehow, that’s enough.

When I got home today, my coat was soaked and my shoes were muddy. But my heart felt calm. Not sad, not full of longing—just calm.

Because even if I never see you again, I know that you existed. That moment existed.

And in a world where so much fades, some memories stay.

Some love stories never need an ending.

They just need the rain.