The Rain

The Rain

The rain launched a series of episodic onslaughts on his black umbrella.

It was helpless and seemed to be on the verge of giving up on this surprise first rainfall of this month. The raindrops were percolating down on his bare head through the tiny holes.

His feet were much heavy with the water seeping quickly into his black Nike shoes. He took off his bag and slung it across his chest.

He swiftly unzipped it to look in for his 14-inch grey laptop that he bought exactly one and a half year ago, still decent and scratch free.

But the things around him were not pretty calm and not essentially poised like the one in his bag. The wind whooshed by that summer evening and the heavy downpours made almost impossible for him to see or listen to the things around.

It was 6 O’clock on his black leather Fastrack wristwatch which his father had gifted him on his 25th birthday.

He had rarely ever forgotten to wear it each day when he would go to the university. His watch had been adjusted to move ahead by almost five minutes than the actual time.

The overcast skies above him were grumbling with occasional flashes of red-yellow light behind the silver linings of the clouds.

While standing patiently at the stop, he silently prayed to God and hoped that the bus would arrive little early that evening. Down below his five feet and ten-inch statured body, a small puddle of bubbling waters had been created in the ground.

The rain had been a poignant reminder of his bright and playful childhood memories when he would close his eyes and walk out on bare feet in the rain.

When he used to find rain as his best playmate. Those were the days when even a little spell of rain would turn him wild and frenzy.

The rain would taste heavenly good. He could remember vividly when he would feel absolutely ecstatic as the raindrops dripped through his pale and little mass of flesh and bones.

He would make small paper boats and watch them happily sailing through the rain-fed pools. The time went by so fast.

The things which he used to love the most, seems to be a thing that he is constantly running away from now.

Perhaps age and time certainly choose the gifts of life and the essence of their meanings as we move along through this beautiful journey of our lives.

-by Arun Bahadur Gurung

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