Rhythm of the falling rain
Posted by james on January 14, 2010
The rain came down like a punishment from God – unrelenting and heavy. Narrow lanes and by lanes were soon covered with water and the only ones happy were the frogs. Croaks of joy and surprise filled the neighborhood just like a symphony.
He knew it was madness to venture outside. Yet, he had no choice. Like a moth he was drawn to the ethereal flame that shone in her eyes. Was it love or desperation? He never found the answer, but then again he’d rather not.
Clutching a battered umbrella tightly, he made his way to the door and peeped outside. Groups of people huddled up closely under every possible bit of shelter. Those few left out, were running to and fro, hoping to get any kind of respite from the rain.
Much to the envious eyes of the unfortunate wet souls, he unfurled the umbrella and slowly waded through the river of water that flowed in front of his house. He was wearing shorts and the water slowly began to freeze his ankles. For a while he stood there, cursing and debating whether it was worth the risk? But then, he reasoned, he was already halfway through his course and there was no point in stopping now.
Her house was just a ten minute walk – in the rain, however, it became a half hour crusade.
The water’s numbing effect bothered him less than the way he had to drag his feet through the watery barrier. He couldn’t walk any faster or it would splash him. He couldn’t walk any slower, because he was already late. He hoped to God, she would forgive him for the shorts.
Just as he was lost in his thoughts, an approaching car’s horn shattered the silence that enveloped his mind. Muttering a curse he got out-of-the-way of the car; not out of the wave of liquid that it covered him with.
‘Great’, he thought, ‘Just great.’
He could see her house in the distance. There it stood, tall and uninviting (at least to his eyes).
There was no way he could return home and make a fresh start. No, he would have to go in like this.
Gently, he stepped on the threshold and slowly rang the bell, half afraid of what she would say on his appearance.
No answer. He rang the bell, a second time. He could hear footsteps inside. Slowly the door opened and he was standing face-to-face with her mother.
She looked at him with wonder in her eyes and could not speak for a moment.
‘Is she in,’ he asked, praying that she would be sleeping and would not want to be disturbed.
‘Yes, do come in,’ the mother replied. ‘Dry yourself with that cloth over there and I’ll tell her you’re here.’
The dry towel was a welcome relief. It reminded him of his warm bed.
Hearing footsteps behind, he turned around. There she stood, radiant as ever. Hair that fell down like a warm canopy, a smile to warm any heart; but it was the eyes. As he stood there on the rug, wet and shivering, he looked into those eyes and then realized why he had made the journey.
