The rain fell in relentless sheets as the crowd bottlenecked at the tube station exit. Umbrellas popped open like mushrooms, while those without shelter hesitated under the awning, pressed forward by the impatient tide behind them.
“Get your umbrella out,” snapped Edward near the front.
“I don’t have one,” Emily admitted, swept along by the surge of bodies.
“I told you it would rain this morning,” Edward huffed, already drenched, casting a resentful glance back at the station doors.
“I was running late. You could’ve brought yours—it’s big enough for both of us.”
“Fine. We’re not made of sugar—we won’t melt.” Edward marched ahead, forcing Emily to jog after him.
“It *is* big. You lugged it around uselessly all day yesterday. Yours folds—why even take it from your bag?” he muttered as they hurried.
“Drying it…”
Their bickering cut through the drumming rain.
“You always make excuses for yourself but act like everything’s my fault,” Emily shot back, exhausted from the argument.
“I’m not blaming you, I just—”
“You *said* it like it was my fault. Couldn’t you just stay quiet? I’m sick of your nitpicking.”
“You call *this* nitpicking?” Edward retorted without turning.
“Oh, don’t start again. I’ve had enough.” Her breath came fast, voice frayed.
Edward grumbled, but when she fell silent, so did he. Emily knew she was wrong, but the rain—soaking her clothes, plastering her hair to her skin—only made it worse.
When had they started like this? Petty squabbles, endless fault-finding. Or had it always been this way? Maybe she’d just stopped smoothing things over before they flared.
A man approached, umbrella-less, strolling as if the downpour delighted him. Hands in his jeans pockets, utterly unbothered. Emily’s heart lurched before her mind caught up.
*Daniel.*
She couldn’t look away. His eyes met hers—then flickered past as he walked by without a word. Had she imagined it? But she knew his face. Unless… No. He’d *seen* her. Why pretend otherwise? Tears welled, lost in the rain.
“You know him? Why was he staring?” Edward leaned in, scrutinising her.
“No. Just looked like someone.” She forced calm into her voice. “He didn’t even say hello.”
“You’re lying. You both looked like you’d seen a ghost.”
*I did,* she thought. Aloud: “He reminded me of an old classmate. Must’ve been mistaken.”
“You seem upset.”
“Stop interrogating me. I. Don’t. Know. Him!” she snapped.
*He’s right. A ghost. One I tried to forget. But if he won’t acknowledge me, fine. He abandoned me…*
“Admit it—something happened. You’re too defensive,” Edward pressed, feigning indifference.
“What do you want? Just *stop*.”
Finally, home.
“Shower’s mine,” Emily declared, darting to the bathroom. Edward’s grumbles blurred under the rushing water. She peeled off soaked clothes, staring at her reflection. Slim, unchanged—no wrinkles, lashes still dark without mascara. *Not bad,* she thought. *But him—older, sharper…*
Steam rose as the shower scalded away the chill. Memories flooded back.
***
The exam results board swarmed with students. Emily shoved through.
“Let me *see*,” she insisted.
A boy stepped aside. “Go ahead.”
She found her name, triple-checking amid jostling.
“Congrats,” said the same boy.
“Thanks. You too?”
“Yeah. Guess we’re classmates.”
They met again in September, nodding like old friends across lecture halls. Daniel smiled but kept his distance—just “Hi,” “How’s it going?” Nothing more.
By exams, storms loomed. Emily hesitated outside the university.
“Whoa.” Daniel appeared beside her.
“Got an umbrella?”
“Nah. We’ll make it.”
They didn’t. Rain hammered down halfway.
“*Run*,” he said, grabbing her hand. His flat was close.
“Your parents home?” she panted on his stairs.
“Just my mum.” He laughed at her panic. “Kidding. She’s at work.”
He lent her a towel, his T-shirt drowning her. Tea steamed on the table; sandwiches piled high.
“Suits you,” he smirked.
They talked for hours. His father had died; he and his mum lived among his dad’s book collection. Then they kissed until their lips burned.
“I *really* like you,” he rasped. “Your hair smells like rain…”
“I should go—your mum—”
“Clothes are still wet.”
But she left, aching with want.
July blurred in breathless days together. Then, in August:
“Mum and I are visiting family. Three weeks in Yorkshire.”
“*Three weeks?*”
“I’ll call every day.”
At first, he did. Then—silence. His number dead. University resumed without him. A classmate said he’d crashed his car, was in hospital.
His mother answered Emily’s knock coldly.
“He asked me to tell you: don’t wait. He might never walk again.”
Betrayal curdled into rage. *He didn’t love me.* By graduation, she’d married.
***
“Emily, you asleep in there?” Edward rapped on the bathroom door.
“Coming.”
That night, she lay awake, replaying the encounter. Had she imagined him? But he’d *known* her. Why walk past?
“Pack for Cornwall next week,” Edward said at dinner. “Don’t forget like last time.”
She’d forgotten. But first—she needed answers.
Next day, she stood outside Daniel’s old flat, heart hammering.
The door swung open. He kissed her before she spoke.
*”I knew you’d come.”*
Later, tangled in sheets, he explained: the crash, his cousin dead, surgeries abroad, rehab.
“I didn’t want to burden you. But I couldn’t forget you.”
She left at midnight. He watched her window from the taxi—light still on.
Inside, Edward waited.
“Where were you? With *him*?”
She braced as he struck. Pain exploded—jaw, ribs—then darkness.
Daniel, still outside, saw the light. He buzzed random flats until someone let him in.
“Police. Fight in the stairwell.”
Upstairs, Edward’s shirt was bloodied. Daniel shoved past. Emily curled on the floor.
A scuffle. Daniel twisted Edward’s arm.
“Stay quiet till we’re gone.”
He carried her out. A neighbour helped them to the taxi.
Broken jaw. Concussion. Days in hospital.
At discharge, rain spat down.
“No umbrella again,” Emily sighed.
“Lucky rain,” Daniel said.
A year later, their son was born.
*”I used to think the worst thing was loving someone who didn’t love you back. Then I realised—it’s needing each other desperately, and life tearing you apart. Why?”*
*”The world isn’t cruel. It tests love—if it can outlast time, distance, pain. Nothing’s stronger than that.”*
