I Didn’t Mind the Rain
I stand beneath the chip shop awning, my eyes scanning the rain-slicked pavement. The drizzle is clearing, but my clothes still cling damply to my skin, a reminder of how long I’ve been waiting. I shift from foot to foot, partly from nerves, partly to ward off the chill that’s seeped into my bones. The fabric of my jacket feels heavy, waterlogged, and I resist the urge to wring it out like a dishcloth.
The scent of vinegar and fried potatoes mingles with the salt air, and for a moment, I’m transported back to that night three weeks ago. The almost-date that ended with me standing alone in the rain, holding a bag of cooling chips like it was a lifeline. I can still taste the disappointment, bitter and lingering like the vinegar on my fingers. The memory of Sophie’s absence that night stings more than the chill in the air.
I push the memory aside, focusing instead on the hope that brought me here today. Sophie had texted, asking to meet, and despite my misgivings, I couldn’t say no. Her message had been brief, apologetic, and it had set my heart racing in a way I wasn’t entirely comfortable with. I find myself rehearsing what I might say, the words tumbling over each other in my mind like the raindrops on the pavement. Part of me wants to run, to save myself from potential heartbreak, but a stronger part keeps me rooted to this spot, waiting, hoping, holding my breath for a second chance.
A flash of green catches my eye, and my heart leaps into my throat. Sophie is approaching, wearing the same coat she had on that night, but something’s different. Maybe it’s the way she walks towards me instead of away, or how her smile holds no trace of apology, just a kind of careful hope. Her hands are buried deep in her pockets, and she’s walking with that slight tilt of her head that I’ve always found so endearing.
I straighten, suddenly acutely aware of my damp hair and rumpled clothes. As Sophie draws nearer, I notice the softness in her eyes, so unlike the panicked look she wore when she fled for the bus three weeks ago. She stops just short of the awning, raindrops clinging to her eyelashes, and for a moment, neither of us speaks. The scent of her perfume, subtle and familiar, drifts towards me on the damp air, bringing with it a flood of memories I’ve been trying to keep at bay.
The air between us feels charged, as if the very atoms are holding their breath along with me. I search for words, but they seem to have deserted me, leaving only the sound of my pounding heart and the gentle patter of rain. My fingers twitch at my sides, unsure whether to reach out or remain still, while the distant rumble of traffic provides a backdrop to our shared silence.
Sophie breaks the silence first. “I was thinking about that evening,” she says, and I brace myself for the gentle let-down I’ve rehearsed responses to. But then a small smile tugs at her lips. “You looked ridiculous. Wet as a sponge. Holding that takeaway bag like it was the Crown Jewels.”
Part of me wants to tell her how long I waited.
Part of me is just glad she came at all.
Then the laughter bubbles up before I can stop it, surprising us both. “It was proper chips,” I say, feeling some of the tension dissipate. “With curry sauce. That’s sacred where I come from.”
Sophie’s eyes crinkle at the corners, and she steps closer, near enough that I can smell her perfume, something light, like rain on grass. “I shouldn’t have gone without saying something, but my mum had a fall,” she says, not dramatically, just honestly. “I didn’t think. I just ran. I just had to go and be with her… Sorry.”
I nod, my throat suddenly tight. The rain has almost stopped now, leaving behind a fresh, clean scent that mingles with the lingering aroma of fried food.
“I’m sorry,” she continues, her voice soft. “I should have texted, or called. I just… panicked, I suppose.”
Without a word, we begin to walk, our footsteps falling into an easy rhythm as we follow the curve of the seafront. The pavement beneath our feet is still slick from the rain, reflecting the first stars of the evening sky. Neither of us bothers to check for puddles.
I keep catching myself glancing at Sophie, surprised at how easy this feels now; how the tight, frantic energy of that first attempt seems to have melted into something gentler. There’s an ease to her movements, a softness in her expression that draws me in.
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Seagulls wheel overhead, their cries mingling with the gentle lapping of waves against the shore.
Sophie’s sleeve brushes against mine once, then again. The third time, it stays, the light pressure of her arm against mine sending a thrill through my body. I want to say something profound about timing or fate, to tell her how I’ve thought of her every day since that rainy night. But what comes out instead is, “I didn’t mind the rain, you know.”
The words hang in the damp air between us, weighted with more meaning than I’d intended. I hold my breath, waiting for her response.
Sophie doesn’t respond immediately to my comment about the rain. Instead, she links her arm through mine, the gesture so natural it feels like we’ve done it a hundred times before. We approach the bench where we first sat, still damp, still slightly wonky, and this time we don’t hesitate. The wet seeps through our clothes, but neither of us moves to leave.
“I kept your number,” she says finally, her voice barely audible above the sound of the waves. “Wrote it on my hand that night. Didn’t wash it off for two days.”
My heart skips a beat. “Bit unhygienic,” I offer, and her laugh carries on the salt air.
“I was scared,” she admits, her voice softening. “You looked at me like… like you might matter. Like this might matter.”
I feel her arm tighten slightly in mine. The bench is cold beneath us, but where our bodies touch, there’s warmth. Salt spray hangs in the air, mingling with the lingering scent of her perfume. I turn to look at her, really look at her, and find her eyes already on me.
“And now?” I ask, my voice catching slightly.
Sophie’s eyes are bright with something that looks like certainty. “Now?” she says, a small smile playing on her lips. “Now I think maybe that’s exactly why I came back.”
The rain starts again, soft and steady, but neither of us moves. I look at Sophie, really look at her, and see the same hope I feel reflected in her eyes. Her hand finds mine on the damp bench, and I marvel at how natural it feels, like we’ve done this a hundred times before.
Around us, the streetlights flicker to life, casting a warm glow over the wet pavement. The air has cooled, but I barely notice, too aware of the warmth where our arms are linked. A gentle breeze carries the scent of salt and Sophie’s perfume, mingling them into something new and intoxicating.
“Fancy a proper chip supper this time?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper. Sophie’s answering smile is brighter than any star, and I feel my heart leap in my chest.
“I’d love that,” she says, squeezing my hand. “No running off this time. Promise.”
As we stand, I’m struck by the feeling that we’re on the threshold of something new and wonderful. The night stretches before us, full of possibility. Sophie’s arm is still linked with mine as we begin to walk, and I can’t help but think that some things are indeed worth getting wet for, especially the second time around.
Tender flash fiction. Held in a breath. Lived in moments.
— One Long Breath… Held
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