The rain fell in heavy sheets as people bottlenecked at the subway exit. Those with umbrellas fumbled in their bags, while the unprepared lingered under the shelter, reluctant to step into the downpour. The crowd behind pushed impatiently, shoving them forward into the wet chaos.
“Grab your umbrella,” snapped Edward near the exit.
“I don’t have one,” murmured Emily helplessly, unable to resist the press of bodies behind her.
“I told you it would rain this morning,” Edward said irritably, standing soaked and glaring back at the subway doors.
“I was running late. You could’ve brought it yourself. Besides, your umbrella’s bigger—we could’ve shared,” she shot back.
“Fine. We’re not made of sugar; we won’t melt.” He strode off, forcing Emily to hurry after him.
“It *is* big. I carried it around all yesterday for nothing. You’ve got a folding one—why’d you even take it out of your bag?” Edward grumbled as they walked.
“I was drying it…”
They bickered, voices rising against the drumming rain.
“You always have an excuse for yourself, but it’s always my fault,” Emily snapped, exhausted by the argument.
“I’m not blaming you, I just—”
“You *said* it like it was my fault. Couldn’t you have just stayed quiet? I’m sick of your nitpicking. You turn every little thing into a catastrophe.”
“You call *this* a little thing?” Edward shot back without turning. “I just—”
“Don’t start again. I’ve had enough,” Emily cut him off, breathless from the pace.
Edward muttered something, but she didn’t reply. Soon, he fell silent too. Emily knew she’d been careless—but the rain, the clinging clothes, the water dripping from her hair… When had this started? The petty squabbles, the constant friction. Or had it always been this way? Before, she’d smoothed things over, smothered sparks before they flared.
A man walked toward them—no umbrella, but he moved as if relishing the rain, hands in his denim pockets. Emily’s heart lurched before her mind caught up. *Daniel.*
She couldn’t look away. He met her gaze—then looked past her as he passed. What did that mean? It *was* him. She couldn’t be wrong. But he’d walked by without a word. Maybe she *was* wrong. She gasped—she’d been holding her breath. Tears welled, hidden by the rain.
“You know him? Why was he staring?” Edward leaned in, trying to read her face.
“No. Must’ve mistaken him for someone,” she forced out. *Why did he ignore me?*
“You’re lying. You looked at each other like—you’re shaking.”
*Like I saw a ghost.* Aloud, she said, “He reminded me of an old classmate. You saw—he didn’t even say hello.” She fought to keep her voice steady. “Are you jealous?” She tried to laugh.
“You’re upset,” Edward pressed.
“Stop interrogating me. I. Don’t. Know. Him!” The words burst out.
*He’s right. A ghost. I tried so hard to forget him. But if he pretended not to know me, then fine—I don’t know him either. He betrayed me.*
“Admit it. There’s something between you. That’s why you’re defensive.”
“What do you want from me? Just stop,” Emily pleaded.
They reached the flat at last.
“I’m showering first,” she said, darting into the bathroom before he could argue. The water drowned out his grumbling. *What a sight. And he saw me like this. No wonder he walked past.*
Peeling off her soaked clothes, she studied herself in the mirror. Slim, unchanged—no wrinkles, her lashes still dark without makeup. *Not bad.* *But he’s different now—older, sharper.*
The hot water soothed her, but the memories wouldn’t wash away.
***
Emily squeezed through the crowd at the university noticeboard.
“Let me through!” She elbowed forward.
A tall boy stepped aside. “Here.”
She found her name, double-checking. It was real. She wriggled free.
“Congratulations,” said a voice beside her—Daniel.
“Thanks. You too?”
“Yeah. Guess we’re classmates.”
They met again in September, nodding like old friends. Different seminars, but shared lectures, the cafeteria. He smiled but kept his distance. “Hi. How’s it going? See you.” That was all.
Exams loomed. Emily hesitated outside the university as storm clouds gathered.
“Whoa,” Daniel said, stepping out behind her.
“You got an umbrella?”
“Nope. Let’s run.”
They made it three hundred meters before the skies opened.
“Come on!” He grabbed her hand, sprinting toward his building. By the time they reached his door, they were drenched.
“Anyone home?” Emily asked on the stairs.
“My mum,” he said, unlocking the door—then laughed at her panic. “Kidding. She’s at work.”
He handed her a towel and one of his shirts. When she emerged, he’d changed and was pouring tea.
“Suits you,” he grinned. The shirt hung like a dress on her.
They talked for hours. His father had died three years ago; it was just him and his mum.
“You read a lot?” she asked, eyeing the packed shelves.
“We all do. Dad’s collection.”
Then they kissed until their lips were sore.
“I really like you,” he murmured. “Your hair smells like rain.”
“I should go. Your mum—”
“Your clothes are still wet.”
But she slipped away, wincing into her damp jeans. She didn’t *want* to leave—but this was moving too fast.
Their fling nearly wrecked their exams. July was a blur of stolen days. Then, in August:
“Mum and I are going to Scotland. Three weeks. We visit Dad’s family every year.”
“Three *weeks*?” Her eyes prickled.
“I’ll be back. I’ll call every day.”
Two weeks in, his number went dead. Emily was frantic. When term started, he didn’t return. A classmate said his mum had requested leave—Daniel was in hospital after a crash.
“He’ll recover. At least he’s alive,” the boy said.
Emily went to his flat. His mother was icy.
“He asked me to tell you not to contact him. Forget him. Why tie yourself to a cripple?”
She raged. How *dare* he decide for her? He’d never even said *I love you*. Fine. She wouldn’t wait.
He never came back. His mum moved away. By final year, Emily was married.
***
“Emily, you asleep in there?” Edward knocked.
“Almost done.”
That night, she lay awake, replaying the encounter. Had she imagined it? His mother said he’d never walk—but he hadn’t limed. He *knew* her. Why ignore her? Because of Edward?
“Don’t forget—we leave for holiday next week,” Edward said at dinner. “Pack early for once.”
She’d forgotten. Before they left, she *had* to see Daniel.
Next day, she left work early. Her heart pounded as she reached his building. *Just ask why he left. That’s all.*
The door swung open before she could speak. He kissed her, and every grievance dissolved. She barely remembered reaching his sofa.
“I knew you’d come. I missed you so much.”
They lay tangled as he explained: the crash, his cousin’s death, the surgeries, the year abroad relearning to walk.
“I didn’t call because I didn’t know if I’d ever walk again. I couldn’t drag you down.”
She drowned in his kisses. When had night fallen?
“I have to go.”
“Stay.”
He called a taxi. On her doorstep, she listened—but the engine didn’t drive away.
Inside, the lights blazed.
“Where were you? With *him*?” Edward’s face was twisted.
“Let’s talk—”
“Talk? *Whore!*”
The first punch shattered her jaw.
Daniel waited outside. The light stayed on. *They’re fighting.* He buzzed random flats until someone let him in.
“Police. There’s a fight.”
Upstairs, he hammered on her door. Edward answered—blood on his shirt. Daniel shoved past. Emily was curled on the floor.
He dodged Edward’s swing, twisted his arm.
“Listen. I won’t report you—but I’m documenting this. Try anything, you’re done.”
He carried Emily out. A neighbour helped him to the taxi.
Broken jaw. Concussion. Days in hospital.
Daniel limped out to the waiting cab.
“She’ll be okay. Thanks for staying.”
When Emily was discharged, rain fell again—thin, miserable.
