Rainy Day

Whenever people asked her if she liked the rain, she would always reply with “It depends.” If she were at home, snuggled into her bed, then sure, she liked the rain. She loved the cool, cleansing feeling that usually came with it, the sound of it spattering against roofs and windows and trees, the way it drowned out the noises and worries that beset her mind, the way it lulled her to sleep. When under the covers, the rain outside made her feel alone and safe, like a would-be butterfly nestled in its cocoon, caressed by mist and dewdrops.

But today she hated the rain. As she stood under a rusty waiting shed, trying to avoid the water leaking through the holes in the roof, the unflattering glare of the lamppost overhead highlighted her scowl. Over and over she cursed the rain under her breath, cursed it for ruining her hair and drenching her clothes and muddying her new Chucks. She cursed it for the traffic and the lack of cabs to hail, for stranding her in the middle of that leaking nowhere. She cursed it for making her make him wait.

“Where are you?” he had asked over the phone, more worried than impatient. “It’s raining hard outside.”

“I don’t really know. I’m stuck in a waiting shed some blocks from the Komaba-Tōdaimae Station. I don’t think I can get to Chiyoda on time. I’m sorry. Don’t bother waiting. Just… just forget our date. Some other time, maybe.” And she hung up before the disappointment and self-pity crept into her voice.

It wasn’t everyday that they found the time to meet up with each other. He was always busy with his shoots, his tapings, his interviews, his radio show. She was always busy with her readings, her workbooks, her papers, her note cards. But somehow, they managed to make things work. They contented themselves with long, typed letters, hurried text messages, and disembodied voices over the phone. She never told him that once, when he laughed over voice chat, she felt like crying because it sounded so different from when he was really there.

This day was supposed to be different. It was her birthday. He had managed to beg some hours off work so he could tour her around Chiyoda. They were going to stroll around Kitanomaru Park, visit the MOMAT, and maybe catch a performance atNippon Budokan before they had dinner and she went back to Mitaka and he to NBS to host ANN. Both of them knew that the time they could spend together was limited, so they cherished those hours. And here she was, wasting them.

She should’ve brought an umbrella. She should’ve left Todai earlier. She should’ve familiarized herself with commuting to Chiyoda instead of taking a cab that would only break down and leave her stranded in the stupid rain. There were so many things she should have done, but did not do. She had been in Japan for almost four months, and she was still such an idiot! She stamped her foot in frustration, hitting a puddle and drenching her socks with muddy water.

“You should stop doing that, you know. You could splash innocent passersby with mud.”

She turned and saw him walking towards her, an umbrella in his hand and an impish grin on his face. She felt like running to his arms and seeking comfort there, but instead stood her ground and kept her frown.

“How did you get here?” she asked.

“I walked, of course.”

“Right. You walked all the way from Chiyoda.”

“Is this ill humor I sense? It’s your birthday!”

“You’d be in a foul mood too, if you were freezing and stranded and drenched on your birthday, and had been standing in this hellhole for two hours, being ignored by all the cab drivers!” She felt close to sobbing, but his teasing smile kept the tears in check.

He walked closer to her and pulled her under his umbrella. “I’d been looking for you since you hung up on the phone,” he said softly. “How could you ask me to just forget about the date? Happy birthday.”

And he took her cold hand in his warm one and, throwing the umbrella away, they walked together under the rain.

[source]