By: Lilah Krajc and Abigail Mari

Drops of water, like a feather on a pillow, fall softly on the pond’s edge. Children are home now, for the sun has set and it is late. Trees dance together in perfect harmony, like the wind is their beat, and all they can do is sway. The leaves fall, for autumn is coming. Red, yellow, orange, even green—each leaf is unique.

​

She sits, her eyes glued down to the book that is sitting in her hands. Her hair was cascading down her back in oceanic waves. She is the picture of elegance. Her glasses catch the rain as it begins to fall.

​

He’s out for a jog, his hair bouncing in rhythm with his steps. Nirvana’s album “Nevermind” blasts through his ear buds. He runs along the sidewalk, careful not to step on any cracks. As he passes the pond that sits quietly by the park, the pitter-patter begins.

​

He watches the rain begin to fall for a minute, enchanted by the smell. When he looks up, all he can see are polka dots. But in reality, it’s the umbrella the girl is holding over her book, protecting it the way a mother would her child. He looks at her, maybe for too long. He takes his time walking past the pond, carefully studying the beauty of the glassy water (and arguably the girl). The rain starts to pour faster and stronger. He increases his stride, his feet rapidly hitting the pavement. When he reaches her, the first words that come to mind are, “Nice umbrella.” She smiles while extending the umbrella, inviting him to step underneath to shield himself from the harsh conditions.

​

They sit together, hiding under the polka-dotted shelter. They’re not sure how much time passes; all they wish to do is get to know each other. On one hand, they’re complete opposites, but on the other, they know that their souls are the same. The rain continues to pour, but neither of them flinches. They just stare at one another in awe. Crouching under the umbrella, they are careful to stay out of the pouring rain—and out of love.

 

When the rain stops, they exchange numbers, smiling at each other every second they get. He walks her home, their hands intertwined, street lamps guiding their path. Talking like there’s no tomorrow, because maybe there isn't, and sharing every detail because their time together is fleeting; they know each other more intimately than anyone else. When they reach her house, they wave goodbye, certain of one thing—that they must see each other again.