Love And Rain

The woman snatched the book from his hand and stared at its dripping pages. Her dark hair clung to one cheek. A thin line of water ran from her temple to her jaw, and she wiped it away with the back of her wrist.

“You could have picked it up more carefully.”

Joel glanced at the gutter, then at the crowd pressing behind him. “I was trying to keep it from being run over.”

“You dragged it through the water.”

“It was already in the water.”

“That doesn’t mean you had to make it worse.”

For a second, the rain seemed quieter than her voice.

Joel had no answer that would not sound defensive. He could feel the portfolio warming beneath his shirt, the damp fabric sticking to his skin. He had wanted only to help. Somehow, in less than ten seconds, he had become another inconvenience in her evening.

“Right,” he said. “Sorry.”

She hugged the book against her coat. “You’re in a hurry.”

“I have an appointment.”

“So am I supposed to thank you for almost destroying something because you’re late?”

“No.” His gaze moved to the swollen book in her hands. “But you could stop talking as if I dropped it.”

Her expression changed - not softened, exactly, but sharpened in a different direction. There was something guarded in her face, as though she had learned to examine kindness before accepting it.

“People say sorry after they stop paying attention,” she said.

The sentence landed with more weight than the moment seemed to deserve.

Joel looked at her properly then. She was not angry only about the book. Her fingers were trembling around its cover, though whether from cold or something else, he could not tell.

Before he could ask, the bus appeared at the far end of the street.

The crowd surged.

Joel turned instinctively toward it, one hand protecting the portfolio beneath his shirt. The woman stepped forward too, but a man with a large umbrella pushed between them. Someone’s suitcase clipped her ankle. She stumbled, and the book slipped again.

This time Joel caught her elbow.

“Don’t,” she said immediately.

He let go.

The bus drew closer, headlights shining through the rain. People began calling out, raising transit cards, squeezing toward the curb. Joel saw the number on the front and felt a small, sharp relief. It was his bus. If he missed it, the next would not get him to the interview in time.

The woman bent to retrieve the book herself.

A wave of passengers moved behind her.

“Julie,” a voice called from somewhere near the shelter. “Julie, move!”

She straightened too quickly. Her shoe slid on the wet pavement.

Joel reached for the book, not her. He caught it before it fell beneath the feet gathering around them and held it out.

“Take it.”

She hesitated.

The bus doors opened with a sigh. Warm air rolled out, carrying the smell of wet coats and diesel. Joel could see the driver waiting. He could also see the white edges of Julie’s pages curling in the rain.

“Go,” she said. “You’ll miss it.”

“So will you.”

“I’m not the one with an appointment.”

He looked at the bus, then at her book.

The decision was small. It still felt like a cost.

Joel stepped back from the line. The crowd swallowed the bus, and the doors folded shut. Through the rain-streaked window, he watched empty seats pass by. The bus pulled away, carrying his carefully guarded hour with it.

Julie stared at him.

“You missed it.”

“I noticed.”

“Because of the book?”

“Because you were about to lose it again.”

Her mouth tightened. “You make that sound like my fault.”

“I didn’t say it was.”

“You thought it.”

Joel almost laughed, but the sound caught in his throat. “You seem very certain about what I think.”

“I’m usually right.”

“That must be exhausting.”

For the first time, something faint moved behind her eyes. Not a smile. The possibility of one, quickly hidden.

The rain thickened. It drummed on the shelter roof so loudly that conversation became an effort. Water gathered at the edge of the pavement, carrying leaves, cigarette wrappers, and the torn corner of a newspaper toward the drain.

Joel pulled the portfolio from beneath his shirt. The outer cover was damp, but still closed. He opened it just enough to check the pages.

Julie watched him. “Is it important?”

“Yes.”

“More important than the book?”

He looked at her.

She seemed to regret asking, but did not take it back.

“It’s for an interview,” he said. “My work.”

“Your work?”

“An evening appointment. I’m trying to get a position.”

“Trying to become someone impressive?”

The question was too close to a private thought. Joel closed the portfolio.

“I’m trying to make sure my parents don’t think all their faith in me was misplaced.”

Julie’s guarded expression faltered.

The words had escaped before he could arrange them into something less honest. He rarely spoke about his parents that way. His father would have called the interview an opportunity and asked whether Joel had polished his shoes. His mother would have noticed the worry beneath his confidence and packed food he would forget to eat. Neither would ask him to become extraordinary. That was the trouble. Joel had decided it for himself.

Julie lowered her eyes to the book.

“It’s not ruined,” she said.

“Not yet.”

“Some of the pages are stuck.”

“I can help separate them.”

“You’ve helped enough.”

The answer was sharp, but quieter now.

A second bus passed without stopping, already full. The wind drove rain beneath the shelter. Julie moved farther in, and Joel shifted with her, leaving a careful space between them. Her shoulder brushed his for half a second. She smelled faintly of lavender and wet paper.

He looked away first.

“What is it?” he asked.

“What?”

“The book.”

“A book.”

“I gathered that.”

She glanced at him, and this time the almost-smile stayed a little longer. “You’re very persistent for someone who was in such a hurry.”

“I’m curious.”

“That sounds like a nicer word for nosy.”

“Maybe.”

She turned the book over. The cover had gone soft at the corners. On it was a small drawing of a house beneath a wide, dark sky.

“It’s my mother’s,” she said.

The rain filled the silence between them.

Joel did not ask whether her mother was alive. He did not ask why the book mattered. He understood the shape of a person protecting something that could not be replaced.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

Julie’s fingers tightened.

“For what?”

“For getting it wet.”

Her gaze lifted to his. The suspicion remained, but something else had entered it now - an unwilling recognition that he meant what he said.

“I didn’t say it was your fault.”

“You didn’t have to.”

The next bus was delayed. The electronic sign flickered, then went dark. A groan traveled through the shelter.

Joel checked the time. His appointment had already begun.

He should leave. He could call ahead, explain the storm, ask for another time. He could run toward the train station and risk the portfolio anyway. He could stop standing beside a stranger who looked at every offered kindness as if it came with a hidden price.

Instead, he looked at the book.

“Give it to me.”

Julie pulled it closer. “Why?”

“I can dry it properly.”

“With what?”

“My mother keeps old towels for everything. Water, paint, broken flowerpots.” He paused. “I have a room nearby. I can press the pages between clean sheets and bring it back when it’s dry.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You expect me to give you my mother’s book and trust you to return it?”

“No.”

“Then why would I?”

“Because if I wanted to steal it, I wouldn’t have missed my bus to save it from the gutter.”

“That is not as reassuring as you think.”

“It wasn’t meant to be reassuring.”

A laugh escaped her before she could stop it. It was small and unwilling, but real.

Joel felt the sound settle somewhere inside him.

Julie looked down, embarrassed by her own reaction. “You’re strange.”

“I’ve been told.”

“By people who know you?”

“Mostly by my mother.”

“Then she probably knows what she’s talking about.”

“She usually does.”

Another bus appeared, slower this time, its windows glowing yellow through the rain. The crowd stirred again, but neither of them moved toward the curb.

Julie held out the book.

Joel took it carefully, supporting the softened spine with both hands. Their fingers touched. Her skin was cold. He felt her pull away almost at once.

“If you damage it further,” she said, “I’ll find you.”

“You don’t know where I live.”

“I’ll find you.”

There was no humor in that part.

Joel nodded. “Fair.”

She reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a receipt, its ink blurred at the edges. On the back, she wrote an address and a name. Her handwriting was narrow and deliberate.

“Julie,” he said, reading it.

“You heard that already.”

“I wanted to be sure.”

“Why?”

He had no sensible answer. The rain had made the world smaller - the shelter, the wet book, her guarded face, the name now resting beneath his thumb.

“Because I’m going to return it.”

Julie studied him as though deciding whether the promise belonged to him or merely to the moment.

“Tomorrow,” she said. “If it dries.”

“And if it doesn’t?”

“Then you’ll have to explain why.”

The bus doors opened. This time Julie stepped forward. Before boarding, she looked back at him.

“You should call your appointment.”

“I will.”

“You should also stop trying to rescue things you don’t understand.”

Joel glanced at the book in his hands. “That advice sounds personal.”

“It is.”

She climbed aboard.

Through the fogged window, he saw her take a seat near the back. She did not wave. She did not smile. She only watched him until the bus pulled away, her face fading behind rain and reflected light.

Joel stood beneath the failing shelter with his ruined schedule, his damp portfolio, and her mother’s book held carefully against his chest.

He had wanted to reach an appointment and prove that his future was still in his hands.

Instead, he had missed the bus, lost the hour, and accepted responsibility for something fragile belonging to a woman who did not trust him.

The storm showed no sign of ending.

Joel looked at Julie’s address again.

Then he slipped the paper into the safest pocket of his portfolio, where it would not get wet.

End of chapter one. 4 more chapters and about 12,278 words in the full book.