The Fault of the Rain
By afternoon, the sky had clouded over, and by evening, a light drizzle began. In spring, the streets looked dreary, especially in this kind of wet weather.
James had been driving around the city for over an hour, killing time before his departure. As evening approached, traffic thickened, forcing him to crawl through jams and wait at red lights. Time dragged, but he didn’t want to go home yet, and it was too early to head to the station.
He pulled over by the pavement and switched off the wipers. Tiny raindrops speckled the windshield like transparent beads, distorting the world beyond.
All week, he’d been recovering from Sophie’s departure. Even now, the ache lingered. If he stayed home, he’d drink again, just as he had every night since she left. Without wine, sleep was impossible.
They’d lived together for nearly a year, after two months of dating. At first, everything had been perfect—better than perfect. He’d even started making plans: a summer trip to the coast, where he’d propose by the sea, despite the recent arguments. Sophie had grown irritable, picking fights over nothing, always angry about something.
Just before she left, they’d fought over his gift for her birthday—a bouquet of Dutch tulips and the handbag she’d been eyeing.
“You wanted this bag yourself,” James protested. “And it wasn’t exactly cheap, by the way.”
“I knew you’d get it. I thought you’d add something personal, a surprise. A gift should be unexpected, thoughtful.”
“Sorry. Should’ve dropped hints if you wanted more,” he muttered.
“Couldn’t you figure it out yourself?”
And Sophie was off again. She claimed he didn’t know how to please a woman, that he didn’t earn enough. “Tom bought Emma a fur coat, and Jenny’s boyfriend got her a diamond ring,” she scoffed.
“Tom’s deals are shady. He earns dirty money, skirting the law.”
“So what? At least she gets new coats and holidays abroad. You’re so principled—no wonder we’re broke.”
“We’re not broke. I wanted to buy a ring, just later. Why do you need a fur coat in spring? Besides, he got it on sale—hardly a grand gesture.”
“Are you pretending, or do you really not get it?” Sophie’s voice sharpened like glass in the wind.
He knew the real reason behind the fights but refused to believe it. They’d argued before but always made up by nightfall. That last night, though, she’d turned away, slapping his hand when he tried to hold her.
In the morning, she ignored him. He called all day, but she wouldn’t answer, then turned off her phone entirely. James barely made it through work. On the way home, he bought flowers, only to find a note on the table.
Sophie wrote that she was tired of it all, that she was leaving for someone who’d give her the world. Her clothes were gone, along with the suitcase from their holiday.
James stormed through the flat, hurling whatever he could—especially the little things Sophie had left behind in her rush to a wealthier life. He stuffed her toothbrush, face cream, and forgotten robe into a bin bag and dumped it outside.
The worst part? She hadn’t just left—she’d branded him a failure. And he felt like one. Her scent lingered on the pillows, choking him with memories. He grabbed a bottle of wine, drank a glass, and managed a few hours of uneasy sleep.
This went on for a week. He showed up to work exhausted, colleagues offering pity. His boss took mercy, sending him to London for a training stint instead of a junior employee.
“Change of scene’ll do you good. Come back sharp,” the man said, clapping his shoulder.
After packing a duffel bag, James drove aimlessly through the city. Rain blurred the windshield, reducing the world to streaks of passing headlights.
He rolled down the window and spotted a café sign. The image of a cozy interior—soft lighting, chatter, music—tempted him. Inside, most tables were taken. He slid onto a barstool and asked for coffee.
“Bar’s for drinks. Grab a table, and a server’ll help you,” the bartender advised.
James scanned the room. Near the bar, a woman sat alone, stirring her tea. Dark hair tied back, delicate features, eyes downcast.
*What color are her eyes?* The thought struck him. For some reason, he was sure she wouldn’t brush him off. He approached.
“Mind if I join you?” He sat before she answered.
She looked up. Green eyes—unlike Sophie’s brown ones, he noted unhelpfully.
“You already have,” she said. A waiter brought menus.
“A black coffee, no sugar.” James glanced at her cup. “Make it two.”
“I didn’t ask you to,” she chided.
“Cold tea’s awful. Who stood you up?”
“Who?”
“Whoever you were waiting for.”
“None of your business.”
“You look sad.”
“My friend.”
“What?”
“I was waiting for my friend.”
The waiter replaced her half-finished tea with fresh coffee.
James took a sip. “Not bad. I’m James. You?”
“Are you hitting on me?” she asked flatly.
“Basically, yes.”
“Emily.”
“Listen, Emily. Why sit here? I’ve got a car. Let’s drive around—see the city lights in the rain. I’ll drop you home after. My girlfriend left me. Train’s not till late, and I’ve got hours to kill.”
Her sharp gaze assessed him, weighing his honesty.
“I’m not lying. You’ve got nowhere to rush off to, or you wouldn’t be here. So? I’m not a creep—decent bloke, really.”
“Decent blokes don’t get dumped.”
“She didn’t dump me. She upgraded.”
Emily hesitated, then nodded. “Alright. Let’s go.”
The rain worsened as they sprinted to the car.
“Seatbelt on,” James said. “Tour guide mode activated.”
“Very funny. I was born here.”
“I’ll show you a different city. Bet you’ve never seen it like this.”
As they drove, he shared trivia about every landmark.
“How do you know all this? Tour guide?”
“First, let’s drop the formalities. We’re sharing intimate car space here. Second, my ex was a tour guide.”
He could’ve lied, claimed he read a lot. Old James would have. But Emily wasn’t like the others. He didn’t perform for her—just invited her along for company.
After circling the city twice, he turned on music, humming softly. Emily joined in. By the chorus, they were belting lyrics together, laughing when it ended.
“Time to take you home. Where to? My train’s in two hours.”
“Where are you going?”
“London. Had I known I’d meet you, I’d have canceled. Boss’s idea. Back in two weeks.”
“What do you do?”
“Advertising. You?”
“Bank. That’s my place,” Emily said, suddenly subdued. She stared ahead. “Actually… can I see you off? Wait till your train leaves?”
“Romantic. No one’s ever done that,” he smiled. “But you’d be heading home alone late.”
“Plenty of cabs at the station.”
At the platform, the announcement blared.
“Script says I should kiss you and say something profound,” James half-joked.
“Say it, then.” Her eyes held his.
“Can I kiss you?” He barely finished before their lips met.
She didn’t pull away—leaned in instead.
“Now, as a gentleman, I have to marry you. Spent half the night together. Will you wait for me?”
“Will you come back?”
Platform lights sparkled in her eyes. The train’s roar drowned his reply.
They chased down the carriage. As the doors closed, he shouted, “I’ll be back soon. Is that a yes?”
Emily kept pace alongside, waving until darkness swallowed her.
London and work absorbed him. He stayed an extra few days, forgetting Sophie entirely—Emily’s memory a pleasant haze.
Returning, he found the flat locked from inside. Sophie answered—shorts and tank top, like old times.
“Finally. Missed you,” she murmured, clinging to him.
“Hold on.” He peeled her off. “You called me a broke loser. Left me for a richer man.”
“I was wrong. Take me back. I love only you.”
Her hands groped for another embrace. He caught her wrists.
“You dumped me, screwed another man, and now want me back? No chance.”
“Got someone else?” Her voice hardened.
“Yep.”
“Bastard! Moved on fast!”
“You left first.”
“Open up!” She hammered the bathroom door while he ran the tap to drown her out.
When he emerged, her coatShe was gone, and the only trace left was the faint scent of her perfume dissolving into the quiet hum of a life moving forward.
