**Diary Entry: Blame It on the Rain**
The afternoon sky had turned grey, and by evening, a fine drizzle had settled over the streets. Springtime made everything look dreary, especially in weather like this.
Matthew had been driving around town for over an hour, killing time before his train. As evening fell, the roads grew busier, forcing him to idle at traffic lights and sit in queues of cars. Time crawled, but he didn’t want to go home yet—nor was it time to head to the station.
He pulled over and turned off the wipers. Tiny raindrops dotted the windscreen like transparent beads, warping the world beyond.
All week, he’d been picking up the pieces after Emily left. Even now, the ache lingered. If he went home, he’d just drink again—like he had every night since. Without wine, sleep was impossible.
They’d lived together for nearly a year, after two months of dating. At first, everything had been perfect. He’d even planned a summer trip to Brighton, where he’d propose by the sea—despite the fights that had started creeping in. Emily had grown irritable, snapping at every little thing, always discontent.
Their last fight had been about his gift for her on Mother’s Day. A bouquet of tulips and the designer handbag she’d wanted for months—apparently, it wasn’t enough.
“You picked this bag yourself,” he’d argued. “And it wasn’t exactly cheap, by the way.”
“I knew you’d get it. I thought you’d surprise me with something more. Gifts should be unexpected, special.”
“Well, sorry. Should’ve hinted harder, then,” Matthew muttered.
“Couldn’t you have just figured it out?”
And off she went again. He didn’t know how to please a woman, didn’t earn enough. Sophie’s boyfriend had bought her a diamond ring, and Jess got a fur coat from hers.
“Sophie’s bloke earns dirty money, skirting the law,” he shot back.
“So what? At least she gets nice things. Meanwhile, you’re too high and mighty, so we’re stuck like this.”
“We’re not poor. I was going to buy a ring—just later. And who needs a fur coat in spring? Besides, he got it on sale.”
“Are you thick, or just pretending?” Emily’s voice was sharp as broken glass.
He knew why they fought—deep down, he suspected the real reason but refused to believe it. Before, they’d argue and make up by morning. But that night, she’d shoved him away when he tried to hold her.
By dawn, she wouldn’t speak to him. He called all day, but she ignored him before finally switching off her phone. He barely lasted till evening. On the way home, he bought flowers—only to find a note on the kitchen table.
Emily wrote that she was tired of it all, leaving for someone who’d give her the world. Her clothes were gone, along with the suitcase they’d taken on holiday.
Matthew stormed through the flat, hurling whatever he could—especially the little things she’d left behind in her rush to her new, lavish life. He stuffed her forgotten toothbrush, face cream, and dressing gown into a bin bag and tossed it into the skip outside.
The worst part wasn’t her leaving—it was *how* she’d left. Painting him as a failure. A loser. And that’s exactly how he felt. He couldn’t sleep, her scent still clinging to the pillows. Memories choked him. He uncorked a bottle, gulped down a glass. It didn’t help much, but he managed a few hours of fitful sleep.
The week passed in a haze. He showed up to work with dark circles. His mates pitied him. His boss took mercy, sending him to Manchester for a training stint instead of the new hire.
“Change of scene. Clear your head. Come back ready to work,” the man said, clapping him on the shoulder.
After work, Matthew packed a duffel bag, tossed it into the boot, and drove aimlessly. Rain blurred the city beyond the glass, leaving only smudges of headlights.
He rolled down the window, spotting a café sign. He imagined cosy tables, soft lighting, murmured conversations—the perfect distraction. Inside, it wasn’t crowded, but every table was taken. He slid onto a barstool and asked for coffee.
“Bar’s for drinks. Grab a table, and the server’ll get you one,” the bartender said.
“Right.” He scanned the room for a seat.
Nearby, a girl sat alone, stirring her cup absently. Dark hair pulled into a ponytail, delicate profile—he couldn’t see her eyes. She wore fitted jeans and a close-knit jumper.
*Wonder what colour her eyes are.* The thought struck him suddenly. For some reason, he knew she wouldn’t brush him off. He walked over.
“Mind if I join you?” he asked, already sitting.
She looked up. Green eyes. *Emily’s were brown*, he remembered belatedly.
“You already have,” she said dryly.
A waiter brought menus.
“Black coffee, please.” He glanced at her cup. “Make it two.”
“I didn’t ask you to,” she said pointedly.
“Cold coffee’s terrible. So, stood you up?”
“Who?”
“Whoever you’re waiting for.”
“None of your business.”
“You look sad.”
“A friend.”
“What?”
“I was waiting for a friend.”
The waiter replaced her half-finished cup. Matthew took a sip.
“Not bad. I’m Matthew. You?”
“Are you hitting on me?” she asked flatly.
“Suppose I am.”
“Hannah.”
“Listen, Hannah. Why sit here? I’ve got a car. Fancy a drive? Evening lights, rain—it’s nice. I’ll drop you wherever after. My girl left me. Train’s at midnight—got hours to kill.”
She studied him. *Weighing if I’m lying*, he realised.
“I’m not. You’ve got nowhere to be either, or you wouldn’t be here. So? I’m not a creep—decent bloke, promise.”
“Why’d she leave, then, *decent bloke*?”
“Found someone richer, I guess.”
Hannah hesitated. Finally, she shrugged. “Alright. Let’s go.”
The rain had thickened. They sprinted to the car.
“Belt up. Tour of the city starts now,” he said as they settled in.
“Very funny. I was born here.”
“I’ll show you a city you don’t know.”
As they drove, he pointed out buildings, sharing odd bits of trivia.
“How d’you know all this? Tour guide?” she asked.
“First, let’s drop the ‘you.’ We’re in a car—bit intimate for formalities. Second—ex-girlfriend was a guide.”
He could’ve lied, claimed he’d read up on local history. Old him would have. But not with Hannah. She wasn’t like the others. He wasn’t *trying* with her. Just driving, talking. Easy.
They looped the city twice before the chatter dried up. He turned on the radio, humming along. Soon, Hannah joined in. By the chorus, they were shouting: *”And once more, the night so grey, the only one I trust to say—”* They laughed when it ended.
“Right, where to? Train’s in two hours.”
“Where’re you going?”
“Manchester. If I’d known I’d meet you, I’d have cancelled. Boss’s idea. Back in a fortnight.”
“What d’you do?”
“Ad agency. You?”
“Bank. That’s my place,” she said, suddenly subdued. She stared ahead. “Actually—can I see you off?”
“You *are* seeing me off. Helped kill time.”
“No, at the station. You board, I’ll wave as the train leaves.”
“Romantic. No one’s done that before.” He smiled. “But you’ll be stranded late.”
“Taxis always wait by stations.”
They drove to Euston. He parked, paid the fee. The waiting area was near-empty. *Emily wouldn’t have come*, he thought. Hannah was different. Easy. Unpretentious. He liked her.
His train was called. On the platform, he grinned.
“Script says I should kiss you now, say something profound.”
“Say it, then.” She held his gaze.
“Can I kiss you?” He brushed his lips to hers.
She didn’t pull back—leaned in, if anything.
“Now, as a gentleman, I ought to marry you. We’ve spent half the night together. Will you wait?”
“Will you come back?” she echoed.
Platform lights glittered in her eyes. The train rumbled in, cutting off his reply. They dashed along the carriages, found his, shoved aboard.
“I’ll be back. That a yes?” he called from the doorway.
And as the train pulled away, Matthew realised the rain had brought him not an ending, but the beginning he never knew he needed.
