When it rains, I write

The rain has come just like the old times. My knees tremble. My eyes are watery. This isn’t a new thing except that now, I don’t have someone to call to whenever lightning strikes and thunder shouts. No one holds the umbrella for me now as I wrap my arms around me. And I will get used to it. I know.

I was never yours. You were never mine. We don’t say those three magic words to each other. And we’ll never will. We didn’t kiss nor hug. Dates aren't called dates. So, technically speaking, there was never an us.

We are used of hearing people around us saying that we look good together. And every damn time they tease us, we will just laugh. They never heard any word from us. Not a single one. But they always have this follow up statement, “No matter how you two deny, things are so obvious.” And after that, one of us will change the topic; that’s the routine.

That made me think. You were always there whenever I needed you. Even when I don’t.

You come to fetch me every after classes to bring me home but I can’t remember any moment you held my hand every time we walk along the sidewalk. Instead, you’d always pull my arms and put me at the safe side. You never gave me flowers and chocolates; you gave me lots of food though, spoiling me with my favorite ones. We don’t go on Sunday dates but you always make sure to call me every night asking how my day was. But other friends do the same thing, too. Right?

Asking has been out of our vocabulary. You never confirmed nor lie. I never did, too. I don't know. Maybe it was too obvious to still need for a confirmation.

Never will I forget that one late night when I was drunk and electricity went out. I have nowhere to go to. Rain is pouring hard. I am lost. I called you saying that I wasn’t home yet. You asked me where I was. Few minutes later, I saw you coming. You were in rage, shouting at me. I cried. You stared at me, scolding me like you were my mom and I was your 7 year-old daughter who failed at an exam. I gave you a hug, a tight one. That was the scene every hopeless romantic girl sees in the movie — a guy holding an umbrella on his left hand, right hand around the girl’s waist, lips on her forehead. Heavy rain pours still. Then, lights came from the lampposts that surrounded us.

But no words to confirm were uttered.

Maybe there was no love I used to think. Maybe I was just really a friend, a good one.

Maybe all were just a bubble to burst.

Hopes were gone. Perhaps, the unending questions were answered. You’ve found a new one to fetch now; new girl to call every night; new girl to comfort whenever heavy rain comes.

I know I will get used to see you with someone else. Perhaps, a year from now or two.

..

Oh, and here I am – getting used to the new comforter whenever heavy rain comes… Writing.