Fun fact about rain: it only cries with a person when their tears are true and filled with love.
Maybe that's why it never cried with me—because I've never really been in love.
I thought I won the bet.
But just as I stepped out, the sky broke open. Rain poured like laughter from the heavens.
Even the clouds were making fun of me.
The metro was crowded for once.
I squeezed in, only to find my usual seat taken.
And then I saw her.
Sitting there—radiant in a way only she could be—she caught my eyes, smiled, and shifted to make space beside her.
For the first time, we sat side by side.
Our hands didn't touch, but they were close.
She was warmth. I was cold. A perfect contradiction. A perfect match.
She tapped my arm gently.
"So, mister, where are you taking me for dinner?"
I turned to her. Her smile could light cities.
"Wherever you want, miss."
She rolled her eyes, playful.
"Aren't you cocky for someone with no life?"
I grinned. "Is that a problem?"
She shook her head. "Nope."
Then she lit up like a child with a secret.
"There's a great barbecue place. Want to go?"
"Only if you want to."
We got off at the next station. Somewhere along the walk, our hands connected.
No words, no overthinking. Just instinct.
Her hands were warm—fitting too perfectly in mine.
Dinner passed in laughter and stories, and before I knew it, she said,
"Let's visit a bookstore."
We went to the one where I once bought a novel I don't remember the name of.
While she browsed, I asked the owner,
"Traveler's such a weird name. Who names their kid that?"
The old man laughed.
"For someone so smart, you're really dumb. It's a pen name."
"A what?"
"A pen name. Writers use it to show who they are through what they write."
I nodded, oddly impressed.
Maybe both the writer and this old man were part of the reason I met her.
After some time, we left. I walked her home.
Again, our hands found each other.
"Thanks for today, mister," she said, smiling up at me.
I smiled. "May I finally know your name?"
"Sophie," she said. "So close to Sofia, yet still far."
"Why do you want to be Sofia? You're better than her."
She laughed. "I've just read that name so many times. In every story, Sofia is loved so deeply… I guess I'm a little jealous."
In that moment, I wanted to say—
Then let me love you more than any story ever could.
But I stayed quiet. I don't know why.
At her door, I asked, "Want to go to the beach tomorrow?"
She laughed. "So the lifeless wants to live."
I smiled. "I've got too many unused paid holidays. Now that I have you, maybe I want to use them."
She tilted her head. "Sure. Why not, mister."
She went inside.
And I walked home with rain still falling softly.
I pulled out a cigarette, held it between my lips, but didn't light it.
"Maybe I won't be needing you soon," I whispered.
Then I lit one, out of habit.
But the rain beat it out before I could take a drag.
I looked up. The moon peeked through the clouds—
The second most beautiful thing I'd ever seen.
But still nowhere close to her.