**It’s All the Rain’s Fault**
By late afternoon, the sky had clouded over, and by evening, a light drizzle began. The streets looked dreary in spring, especially on a rainy evening like this.
Oliver had been driving around the city for over an hour, trying to kill time before his train. Traffic had thickened by evening, and he found himself stuck at red lights and in jams. Time crawled, but he didn’t want to go home yet, and it was too early for the station.
He pulled over and turned off the wipers. Tiny raindrops speckled the windshield, blurring the world beyond.
The whole week had been about picking up the pieces after Emily left. Even now, the ache lingered. If he stayed home, he’d just drink again, like he had every night since. Sleep was impossible without wine.
They’d lived together for nearly a year, after dating for two months. At first, it had been perfect—better than perfect. He’d already planned a summer trip to the coast, where he’d propose. Never mind that lately, they’d fought constantly. Emily snapped at him over everything, always angry, always finding fault.
The final blow was their argument over his International Women’s Day gift—Dutch tulips and the handbag she’d wanted.
*You picked it out yourself,* Oliver protested. *And it wasn’t exactly cheap.*
*I knew you’d get it. I thought you’d add something special, make it a surprise. Gifts should be unexpected.*
*Well, sorry. You could’ve hinted if you wanted more.*
*Couldn’t you figure it out yourself?*
And off she went. He didn’t know how to please a woman, didn’t earn enough. *Jack bought Sophie a fur coat. Sarah’s boyfriend got her a diamond ring.*
*Jack’s crooked. His money’s dirty.*
*So? At least she gets nice things. You’re so principled—look where that’s got us.*
*We’re not poor. I was going to get you a ring—just later. And who needs a fur coat in spring? He probably got it on sale.*
*Are you serious, or just clueless?* Emily’s voice was brittle, like glass in the wind.
He knew why this kept happening, though he didn’t want to admit it. They’d fought before, but nights always ended in reconciliation. That last night, though, she shoved him away when he tried to hold her.
By morning, she wouldn’t speak to him. He called all day, but she ignored him, then turned off her phone. Oliver barely lasted till evening. On his way home, he bought flowers—only to find a note.
*I’m tired of this. I need someone who’ll give me the world.* Her things were gone.
He stormed through the flat, flinging whatever she’d left behind—small things, abandoned for her new, richer life. Then he bagged it all—her toothbrush, her robe, the forgotten jar of cream—and dumped it in the bins.
The worst part? She hadn’t just left. She’d left *for someone else*, making him the failure. That’s exactly how he felt. He couldn’t sleep, her scent clinging to the pillows. Memories choked him. He poured a glass of wine. It didn’t help, but he managed a few hours of restless sleep.
This went on all week. He showed up to work with dark circles. His mates pitied him. His boss took mercy, sending him on a temporary assignment to Manchester—a distraction.
*Get your head straight. Come back ready to work.*
After packing a duffel, Oliver drove around aimlessly until the rain blurred the city into streaks of light.
A café sign caught his eye. He imagined warmth, soft lighting, murmured conversations—something to take his mind off things. Inside, the place 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 waitstaff will sort you.*
*Right.* He scanned the room and spotted a lone woman stirring her cup, dark hair pulled into a ponytail. A delicate profile, a fitted jumper, narrow trousers—she had an understated elegance.
*Wonder what colour her eyes are.* He had to know. Something told him she wouldn’t brush him off. He approached her table.
*Mind if I join you?*
She looked up. Green eyes. *Emily’s were brown*, he thought bitterly.
*You already sat down*, she said flatly.
The waiter brought menus.
*Black coffee, please. Two.*
*I didn’t ask you to.*
*Cold coffee’s disgusting. Who stood you up?*
*Excuse me?*
*You look sad.*
*A friend.*
*What?*
*I was waiting for a friend.*
The waiter cleared her half-finished cup. Oliver took a sip.
*Not bad. I’m Oliver. You?*
*Is this a chat-up?*
*Suppose so.*
*Charlotte.*
*Listen, Charlotte. Why sit here? I’ve got my car—fancy a drive? See the city in the rain. I’ll drop you after. My girlfriend just left me. Train’s not till late—got hours to kill.*
She studied him. *Sizing me up*, he thought.
*I’m not lying. You’ve got time, or you wouldn’t be here. So? I’m not a creep. Decent bloke, honest.*
*Why’d she leave, then?*
*Found someone richer.*
Charlotte weighed it, then nodded. *Alright. Let’s go.*
The rain thickened as they ran to the car.
*Seatbelt. I’ll show you the city.*
*Funny. I grew up here.*
*Not like this, you haven’t.*
He pointed out buildings, sharing odd facts.
*How d’you know all this? Tour guide?*
*First, let’s drop the formalities. We’re sharing a car—practically intimate. Second—ex-girlfriend was a tour guide.*
Normally, he’d lie—say he’d read up. But Charlotte felt different. No pretence, no games. Just company.
They looped the city twice before putting on music. Soon, they were belting out lyrics, laughing when the song ended.
*Time to take you home. Where to? Train’s in two hours.*
*Where are you going?*
*Manchester. If I’d known I’d meet you, I’d have stayed. But I’ll be back in a fortnight.*
*What d’you do?*
*Advertising. You?*
*Bank. That’s my place.* Her voice softened. *Actually—can I see you off?*
*You already have.*
*No, properly. Watch your train leave, wave like in the movies.*
*Romantic. No one’s done that. But you’ll have to get home alone.*
*Taxis at the station.*
At the platform, surrounded by echoes of announcements, Oliver realised Emily would never have come. Charlotte intrigued him—easy to talk to, no airs.
*Script says I kiss you and say something profound.*
*So say it.*
*Can I?* He leaned in.
She didn’t pull away.
*Now, as a gentleman, I have to marry you. Spent half the night together. Will you wait?*
*Will you come back?*
The train roared in. They sprinted for his carriage.
*I’m coming back. You in?* he shouted as the doors closed.
*For what?* she called back.
Charlotte kept pace as the train pulled away, fading into the dark.
Manchester absorbed him. He stayed extra days, thinking of Charlotte—less a promise now, more a sweet joke. Emily never crossed his mind.
Returning, he found his flat locked from inside. He rang the bell.
Emily answered, in shorts and a vest—like nothing had changed.
*Finally. Missed you.* She hugged him.
*Hold on. You left. Called me a loser.*
*I was wrong. I love you. Let’s start over.*
*You walked out, screwed someone else, and waltzed back? No.*
*Where will I go?* Her voice wavered.
*Not my problem.*
*Is there someone else?*
*Yes.*
*Bastard! I leave, and you replace me?*
*You left first. Now get out.* He locked himself in the bathroom until her banging stopped.
She’d taken her coat. *She’ll be back*, he thought. He called a locksmith, then headed to work.
That evening, he waited outside Charlotte’s building. When she appeared, holding a little boy’s hand, his stomach dropped.
*Your son?*
*Surprised?* Her smile faltered. *Relax—my nephew. My sister’s staying with me. Wait here.*
She returned minutes later, sliding into the car.
*You’re late.*
Oliver took her hand and smiled, knowing that sometimes the best things in life begin with a little rain.
