The Rain Waited With Her

A quiet farewell at a rainy train station becomes a timeless moment of longing.

The Rain Waited With Her

The station was nearly empty, except for Elina--standing beneath an old red umbrella. The sky had turned to ash, and the scent of rain lingered in the air. She wasn't crying. Not anymore. But her eyes were the kind that carried tears without ever falling.

It had been a year since he left.

Arman never said goodbye properly. He just walked away, the rain beginning to fall as if the sky itself mourned their silence. She remembered slipping the umbrella into his hand before he turned. Her voice caught in her throat, so she said nothing. Only her eyes spoke--pleading, hopeful, breaking.

He looked back once. Just once.

Now, she stood in that same spot. Same sky. Same rails. Same silence.

Every time it rained, it brought his memory with it. Not just the pain of his leaving, but the warmth too--the way he used to shield her from the rain, how he'd hum a song while they walked in the storm, pretending they had forever.

She sighed. "You left, Arman... but the rain stayed. Maybe it still waits with me."

And just then--like a dream remembered at the edge of waking--she heard footsteps. Slow, unsure.

She turned.

There he was.

Drenched. Breathless. Holding the same umbrella she once gave him.

"I didn't know how to say goodbye," he said. "So I came to say hello."

She didn't speak. She just stepped forward, let the umbrella fall between them, and touched his face gently--like rain against skin.