Work Text:
Emil leaned against the window pane, listening intently to the rhythmic melody of raindrops hitting on the glass, then trickling down. It was a downpour, and he could see a sea of black umbrellas outside the coffee shop, each hoisted by their respective sombrely-clad owners, scurrying towards the nearest shelter or form of transport. The writer never understood why anyone would be frightened by rain, his one source of inspiration. Every so often he would find himself crying with the rain’s soft melancholic song, nostalgic for the simpler times of his childhood in the countryside. These are the same tales of nature’s grace he would tell in every unpublished short story, as his fingers danced on the keyboard, in time with the rain’s splatter.
A sudden clap of thunder woke Emil from his thoughts, and he looked out of the window again. It was still raining. To his surprise, however, a solitary figure stood out amid the dark clusters, drenched all over in the storm. Yet, he was not troubled, nor afraid. He had thrown away his shield against the abominable shower, and stretched out his arms, taking in the rain in all its glory.
This was Mathias, who had gone to work today in a sombre black suit and a state of misery. Once upon a time, he was a mirthful child who habitually ran into the rain, prancing in it, singing in it. As summers passed one after another, he eventually stopped, and found himself mired in the dull routines of life, draining away his passion and the colours of his youth. Still, he loved the rain, and yearned to dance in it once more. To him, rain was a blessing, a symbol of rejuvenation. Today, he dropped his umbrella and sang in the rain for the first time in years. Perhaps through doing so, he could release his worries and recall his long-forgotten dreams again.
The crowd cleared away into buses and subways, but Mathias stayed, smiling ruefully at the sight before him. It was still raining. Watching the rainwater seep into the sewers, he wondered how many there could be that once shared his longing for freedom and happiness, whose sense (or cowardice) had rendered the sodden streets desolate and barren, leaving him alone. A crazy man bedraggled in the pouring rain.
Yet, he was not alone. Observing the emptied avenue, Lukas emerged from his flat, and stepped into the rain. He dared not walk under the day’s scorching sun, where one had to wear layer after layer of masks just to fit in. In the rain he could shred the pretences and be himself, for there was no one around to scrutinise his actions. People in the garish light horrified him, but only the abnormal and the ostracised would stand in the rain and smile. Lukas knew that if there was anyone else in the rain, it would just be another lonely soul. He knew that they could be lonely together then, and the knowledge calmed him.
The same thought ran through Lukas’ mind as he spotted the insane Mathias, soaked from head to toe. He stopped a few feet away, and let go of his umbrella as well, though it was still raining. Imitating the stranger, he stretched out his arms and closed his eyes, feeling the raindrops’ waltz against his parched skin, taking in the dulcet aroma emanating from the moistened flora latched onto the sidewalk. Mathias couldn’t help chortle at the sight of this unexpected companion, his exuberant laughter intertwining with the rain to form a euphonic symphony. Lukas then opened his eyes to meet Mathias’, and began chuckling too.
Soundlessly, Emil watched the scene unfold from behind the window pane, his fingers still pitter-pattering away on his keyboard, pouring strands of thought into neatly printed characters on a snowy canvas. Yet, his tranquillity was short-lived. With a violent clang the coffee shop’s door burst open, making the wind chimes hanging on it knell discordantly. In came a frantic young man, wet and shivering. The writer glanced towards him, and, observing the boy’s lack of rain gear, deduced that he must have been out on an errand, and did not expect the rain.
Emil was right. Leon was among those who feared the rain. In the tempest he could hear no music, for thunder and lightning could only induce formidable memories he did not wish to relive. In the howling winds he heard once more the endless brawls of his parents, before his father left for good, on that fateful stormy night. Today he had come out for some grocery shopping, and seeing the bright midday sun, decided to leave his umbrella at home. However, he regretted his decision once he got off the bus. The weather had turned around, and in a flash came the cloudburst. In his panic Leon dashed into the closest store nearby, which so happened to be this one, seeking for shelter from the tumult and gloom.
Seeing that the rain was unlikely to stop any time soon, Leon sighed. He went up to the counter sullenly, purchased a cup of hot latte, and asked for some napkins. Then, he took the seat opposite Emil and proceeded to dry and warm himself up, still trembling from the cold and from remembrance. Laying his head on the shared table, Leon listened to the rain, and to the rhythm of the writer’s fingers hitting on the computer keys. Soon his breath moderated, as his complexion softened from that of dread to one of serenity. By the time the rain lightened, he had drifted off to sleep, a restful smile lingering on his weather-beaten face.
All this time Emil had not ceased writing, his fingers still dancing to the rain’s splatter. Yet, watching the stranger before him, and thinking back to the two men in the rain’s embrace, something struck his mind. An understanding. Perhaps, not everyone loved the rain like he did, and that’s alright. Even among those who did, each might have their own interpretation of it. Rain was something to be shared by everybody, and like stories, each person was entitled to their own retelling.
In the rain, we can all find a piece of ourselves that we might have lost in our lives’ long journeys. We may be like Mathias, resurging from the monotony of the grind and recovering our childhood passions. We may be like Lukas, finding solace in the rain’s company, and discovering a connection with others. We may be like Leon, learning about our own weaknesses and fears, and seeking for the courage to overcome them. We may even be like Emil himself, drawing inspiration from the rain, and experiencing an epiphany.
As the downpour dwindled into a mild drizzle, Emil packed his laptop, along with other belongings, and rose to leave the coffee shop. He looked out of the window once more, where the rain no longer waltzed on the pane, only dripping from it. The men, too, were long gone. He then turned to the boy, still soundly sleeping on their shared table. Quietly, the writer reached into his backpack for his own umbrella, placed it beside the forlorn stranger, and stepped into the sprinkling rain.