The rain fell heavily as the crowd spilled out of the tube station. Those fortunate enough to have umbrellas fumbled with them at the doors, while the unprepared lingered under shelter, reluctant to step into the downpour. Yet the impatient throng behind shoved them forward, forcing them into the wet embrace of the storm.
“Get your umbrella out,” Edward muttered near the exit.
“I don’t have one,” Emily replied helplessly, unable to resist the press of bodies behind her.
“I told you it would rain this morning,” Edward snapped, standing sodden and glaring back at the station doors.
“I was running late. You could’ve brought one yourself. Yours is big enough for both of us,” she countered.
“Fine. We’re not made of sugar—we won’t melt.” Edward strode off, and Emily hurried to keep up.
“And that’s exactly the problem—yesterday I lugged this thing around all day, and it didn’t rain a drop. You could’ve brought your foldable one. Why’d you even take it out of your bag?” he grumbled as they walked.
“It was drying…”
They bickered back and forth, their voices nearly swallowed by the rain’s drumming.
“You always have an excuse for yourself, but I’m always the one at fault,” Emily snapped, weary of the argument.
“I’m not blaming you, I just said—”
“You said it in a way that made me feel guilty again. Couldn’t you have phrased it differently? Or just kept quiet? I’m tired of your nitpicking. You turn every little thing into a catastrophe.”
“You call this rain a little thing?” Edward shot back without turning. “I only said—”
“Oh, don’t start again. Enough!” Emily cut him off, breathless from their hurried pace.
Edward muttered something more, but she didn’t respond, and soon he fell silent. Emily knew she was partly to blame—and this wretched rain. Her clothes clung to her skin, her hair dripping.
When had this started between them? The petty squabbles, the constant fault-finding. Or had it always been this way? Perhaps. Maybe she’d just been better at yielding before, smothering sparks before they flared into full-blown rows.
A man approached them, walking without an umbrella yet seeming to relish the rain, hands tucked into his jeans pockets. Emily’s heart lurched before her mind caught up. Daniel!
She couldn’t tear her eyes from his face. He looked at her too—but as they passed, he averted his gaze. What did that mean? It *was* him. She couldn’t be mistaken. Yet he’d walked right by without a word. Had she misjudged? There were plenty of lookalikes in London. She sucked in a sharp breath, realising she’d been holding it. Tears pricked her eyes, mercifully hidden by the rain.
“Do you know him? Why was he staring at you?” Edward leaned forward, trying to catch her expression.
“No. Must’ve been someone else,” she forced out after a pause. *But why pretend not to know me?* The question burned inside her.
“You’re lying. You looked at each other like—you’ve gone pale as a ghost.”
*Because I have seen one,* she thought. Aloud, she said, “He reminded me of someone from university. I was wrong. You saw—he didn’t even say hello.” She fought to keep her voice steady. “Are you jealous?” She tried to laugh it off.
“You look shaken,” Edward pressed.
“Stop interrogating me. I. Don’t. Know. Him!” Emily burst out.
*He’s right. I saw a ghost—one I’d tried so hard to forget. But if he could pretend not to know me, then I won’t acknowledge him either. He betrayed me…*
“Admit it—there was something between you. That’s why you’re so defensive,” Edward said, feigning indifference.
“What do you want from me? Just drop it,” she pleaded.
At last, they reached home.
“I’m first in the shower,” Emily declared, darting to the bathroom the moment they stepped inside. Edward grumbled something, but she turned on the water to drown him out. *What a sight I must’ve been. No wonder he walked past. All because of this rain…* She studied herself in the mirror.
Peeling off her soaked clothes, she tossed them into the washing machine and looked again. Her figure was still slender, her face unlined. She was grateful for her thick lashes—she rarely wore makeup. *No raccoon eyes today, at least. Not bad for a drowned rat.* But *he* had changed—his features sharper, more defined…
She stepped under the shower’s scalding spray, letting it ease the tension from her shoulders. But the memories wouldn’t wash away.
***
Emily pushed through the crowd gathered around the exam results board, tall students blocking her view.
“Let me through!” she finally snapped, shoving forward.
A boy stepped aside. “Here.”
She found her name, but jostling elbows made her lose her place twice. No mistake—she’d made it. Breathing hard, she wriggled free of the pack.
“Congratulations,” said a voice beside her.
She turned to see a stranger—dark-eyed, smiling.
“Thanks. You too?”
“Yeah. Guess we’ll be classmates.”
“Brilliant,” she grinned.
They met again in September like old friends. Different seminar groups, but they crossed paths in lectures and the canteen. Daniel would catch her eye, smile—but never made a move beyond “Hi. How’s it going? See you.”
By summer exams, their routines had settled. One afternoon, Emily hesitated outside the university building. Storm clouds loomed, and she’d forgotten her umbrella. *Wait it out? Or make a run for it?*
“Blimey,” Daniel said, emerging behind her.
“Got an umbrella?”
“Nope. We’ll beat it. Come on.”
They’d barely gone a hundred yards when fat drops began to fall.
“Quick—my flat’s close.” He grabbed her hand, and they ran as the rain thickened. By the time they reached his building, they were drenched.
“Anyone home?” Emily asked, following him upstairs.
“My mum,” he said, unlocking the door—then laughed at her panic. “Kidding. She’s at work. Towel’s in the bathroom; I’ll find you dry clothes.”
He passed her a t-shirt through the door. When she emerged, he’d changed and was pouring tea. A plate of sandwiches sat between them.
“Suits you,” he smirked. His shirt hung to her thighs.
They talked for hours. His father had died three years prior; it was just him and his mum now.
“All these books—you read them?” she asked, eyeing the crammed shelves.
“We all did. Dad collected them.”
Later, they kissed until their lips were swollen.
“I really like you,” he rasped, pulling back. “Your hair smells like rain.”
“I should go—your mum might—”
“Your clothes are still wet.”
But she squirmed free, changing back into damp jeans. She didn’t *want* to leave—but this was moving too fast.
The whirlwind of exams couldn’t distract them. July was inseparable—mornings together, parting only at night.
Then, in August, Daniel said he and his mum were visiting family in Yorkshire for three weeks.
“*Three weeks?*” Her eyes prickled.
“I’ll be back before you know it. I’ll call every day.”
The days dragged. Then, after two weeks, his calls stopped. His number went dead. Her parents refused to let her chase after him.
Term resumed without him. A classmate said his mum had arranged a leave—Daniel had been in an accident.
“Don’t fret—he’ll recover. At least he’s alive,” the boy said.
Emily went to his flat. His mother answered coldly. “He may never walk again. He asked me to tell you—don’t wait for him. You’re young; don’t tie yourself to an invalid.”
She couldn’t accept it. How dare he decide for her? He’d never even said *I love you*. If he could discard her so easily, she wouldn’t waste tears.
He never returned. His mother moved away. By final year, Emily had married Edward.
***
“Emily, you asleep in there?” Edward rapped on the bathroom door.
“Almost done,” she called, shutting off the water.
That night, she lay awake, replaying the encounter. Had she imagined it? His mother said he’d never walk—yet he hadn’t limped. But she’d *seen* recognition in his eyes. Why ignore her? Because of Edward?
“Don’t forget—we leave for holiday next week,” Edward said at dinner the next evening. “Start packing, or you’ll forget something, as usual.” His tone was that of a schoolmaster scolding a pupil.
“I’ll manage,” she said.
She’d forgotten the trip entirely. But before
