Out into the rain

I am not sure if you heard me through all that rain.

It was this day many years ago. You got a call in the middle of the night. You were lying awake with your head on my chest listening to my heartbeat. I asked you to pick the call up when your phone rang. You did. With a wink in your eye, you slipped off from under the blanket. It took you forever to come back. You slipped back in hours later and rested on my chest again. You were shivering. It was a very cold night. It was raining. I hugged you tight. You hugged me back. Occasional lightning threw silver light on your face through our window. I could see that you were not blinking. Were you thinking about something?

I would never know. You just jumped up from the bed, clutched the phone, grabbed your black mackintosh and went out into the rain without telling me anything. I ran behind you till the door. Without turning back you signaled me to stop. I did. I asked where you were going. You did not reply. I asked what was wrong. You did not reply.

You were already at the gates. I ran out into the rain. I knew you were not coming back. You were almost near that tree when I shouted, “If you ever come back, I’ll be here”…

But I am not sure if you heard me through all that rain.

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