The rain fell in heavy sheets outside the tube station, trapping a crowd of commuters in the narrow exit. Those lucky enough to have umbrellas fumbled with them at the doors, while the unprepared lingered under the shelter, unwilling to step into the downpour. But the impatient surge of bodies behind them pushed them forward, out into the wet.
“Grab your umbrella,” Oliver muttered, already soaked as he turned to glare at the station doors.
“I don’t have one,” Emily replied helplessly, jostled by the crowd behind her.
“I warned you it would rain this morning,” he snapped, water dripping from his brow.
“I was running late! You could’ve brought yours—it’s big enough for both of us.”
Oliver scoffed. “We’re not made of sugar. We won’t melt.” He strode off without another word, Emily struggling to keep pace.
“Exactly—it’s huge! I carried it around all day yesterday, and not a drop fell. Yours folds up. Why didn’t you just leave it in your bag?” he grumbled as they walked.
“I was airing it out.”
They bickered over the drumming rain, voices rising.
“You always have an excuse for yourself, but somehow I’m always the one at fault,” Emily snapped, exhausted.
“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 sick of your nitpicking. You turn every little thing into some cosmic disaster.”
Oliver didn’t look back. “You call this a little thing?”
Emily exhaled sharply. “Don’t start again. I’ve had enough.” Her breath came fast, voice trembling.
Oliver muttered something under his breath, but when she didn’t reply, he fell silent too. Emily knew she wasn’t entirely blameless—and the rain wasn’t helping. Her clothes clung to her skin, hair dripping.
When had this started? The petty arguments, the constant corrections. Or had it always been this way? She used to let things slide, smothering sparks before they flared into fights.
A man walked toward them—no umbrella, yet he moved as if savoring 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, his gaze flicked away. What did that mean? It was him. It had to be. But he’d walked right by. Had she imagined it? She gasped, realizing she’d been holding her breath. Tears welled, masked by the rain.
“Do you know him?” Oliver leaned forward, trying to read her face. “He was staring at you.”
“No,” Emily said after a pause. “He just… looked familiar.”
*But why pretend not to know me?* The question clawed at her.
“You’re lying. You looked like you’d seen a ghost.”
*I have.* But aloud, she said, “He reminded me of someone from uni. I must’ve been mistaken—he didn’t even say hello.” She forced calm into her voice, though inside, everything churned. “Are you jealous?” She tried to laugh.
“You look upset,” Oliver pressed.
“Stop interrogating me. I. Don’t. Know. Him!” The words burst out before she could stop them.
*He’s right. I saw a ghost. I tried so hard to forget him. But if he won’t acknowledge me, then fine. He betrayed me first.*
“Admit it. There’s something between you, or you wouldn’t be reacting like this,” Oliver said, feigning indifference.
“What do you want from me? Just drop it.”
By the time they reached the flat, Emily was desperate for escape.
“I’m showering first,” she announced the moment they stepped inside, darting to the bathroom before Oliver could protest. She turned the water on loud, drowning out his voice. *Look at me. No wonder he walked past. This damned rain.*
Stripping off her soaked clothes, she examined herself in the mirror. Still slender, no wrinkles, her dark lashes framing her eyes. She rarely wore makeup. *At least I don’t look like a raccoon.* She tilted her head. *Not bad. But he’s changed—older, sharper.*
The hot water soothed her as memories flooded back.
***
Emily pushed through the crowd of freshers clustered around the posted lists. Towering lads blocked her view.
“Let me through!” she snapped, elbowing forward.
A boy stepped aside. “Go ahead.”
She found her name, tracing it twice to be sure. It was real. She’d made it.
“Congrats.”
She turned. A stranger grinned at her.
“Thanks. You too?”
“Yep. Guess we’re coursemates.”
“Brilliant.”
They met again in September like old friends. Different seminar groups, but they crossed paths in lectures and the canteen. Daniel always smiled but never made a move. “Hey. How’s it going? See you.” That was it.
By exam season, their first year was nearly over. Emily hesitated outside the university building, eyeing the storm clouds. No umbrella. *Wait it out? Or make a run for it?*
“Blimey,” Daniel said, stepping out behind her.
“Got an umbrella?”
“Nah. We’ll beat it.”
They didn’t. Three hundred metres in, the sky opened.
“Run!” Daniel grabbed her hand, pulling her toward his building. By the time they reached his flat, they were drenched.
“Anyone home?” Emily asked, following him upstairs.
“Mum,” he said, unlocking the door—then laughed at her panicked expression. “Kidding. She’s at work. Shower’s there. I’ll find you something dry.”
He passed a T-shirt and towel through the door. When she emerged, he’d changed and was pouring tea. A tower of sandwiches sat between them.
“Suits you,” he smirked. His shirt hung to her thighs.
They talked for hours. His dad had died three years ago; it was just him and his mum now.
“You’ve got loads of books. You read much?”
“We all do. Dad collected them.”
Later, they kissed until their lips burned.
“I really like you,” Daniel murmured against her mouth. “Your hair smells like rain.”
“I should go. Your mum might—”
“Your clothes are still soaked.”
She wriggled into damp jeans, reluctant to leave. She liked him—too much. But this was moving fast.
Exams barely registered. They spent July inseparable, meeting at dawn and parting at midnight.
Then, in August, Daniel said he was leaving.
“Siberia? Three weeks?” Emily’s throat tightened.
“I’ll be back before you know it. I’ll call every day.”
But after two weeks, his number went dead. Her parents refused to let her follow.
Term started without him. A classmate said Daniel’s mum had requested a leave of absence—he’d been in an accident.
“Don’t fret. He’ll pull through,” the boy said.
Emily went to his flat. His mother answered, cold.
“He’s in bad shape. Might never walk again.” She looked Emily over. “He asked me to tell you not to call. Forget him. You’re young—move on.”
Emily couldn’t accept it. How could he decide for her? He’d never said he loved her, never made promises. Maybe he never had.
Daniel never returned. His mum moved away. By final year, Emily was married.
***
“Emily, you asleep in there?” Oliver’s knock startled her.
“Nearly done.”
That night, she lay awake, replaying the encounter. Had she imagined it? His mum said he’d never walk—but he hadn’t limped. He’d recognised her. Why walk past?
“Don’t forget—holiday next week,” Oliver said over dinner the next day. “Start packing, or you’ll forget something, as usual.”
She’d forgotten entirely. Before they left, she needed answers.
The next afternoon, she left work early and went to Daniel’s flat. Her pulse raced as she reached his door. *Just ask why. That’s all.*
The door swung open before she could knock. Daniel pulled her into a kiss before she could speak. All anger melted away. She barely remembered reaching the sofa.
“I knew you’d come,” he whispered later. “I never forgot you.”
He told her about the crash—his cousin dead, him barely surviving. Surgeries, rehab abroad.
“I didn’t call because I didn’t know if I’d walk again. I didn’t want to ruin your life.”
She couldn’t stay angry. They talked for hours, until night fell.
“I have to go,” she said finally, dressing quickly.
Daniel called a cab and waited outside her building long after she went inside.
Emily turned her key silently, but the lights blazed on.
“Where were you?” Oliver
