Rains make love.

Like the quintessential smell of the mud, when it rains for the first time, I'm caught up in the essence of it all. The mood. Yes, the mood. The leaves, freshly wet, seem to be smiling too. I'm not a nature person, but you see, the love comes easily during the rains.

So does he.

We cannot call it a love-hate relationship. Absolutely not. It was only love. But it came when the skies turned a romantic grey. Yes, I associated love with the dark colours. Darkness signified the passion, the depth, the emotion, the maturity, that he and I shared. It was not for everyone to understand. And no one was supposed to. And no one did.

Not even mum, who nagged about it everyday. The first time she saw us talking, she was mighty pleased that I came out of my shell, and was mingling with him. When she saw us kiss, with him pressed against me, me against the coconut tree, she didn't raise a sound. She saw that I saw her, but she kept quiet, so I think she was okay. But we rarely met, and whenever we did, in places frequented by others too, we just looked at each other. No smiles exchanged, no nods. Just a glance. My mum demanded to know why I cold shouldered him. Silly woman! It was love, doesn't she see? But then, she wasn't supposed to. So it was all right.

So, he came.

At the same bench that we kissed on the last time it rained.

He walked towards me waiting to hide himself from the rest of the world. The kind he lived with. The kind he hated and loved equally.

He gently placed his hand on my wet cheek, felt my skin, came close to me, and just grasped my presence in. He always thought I was unreal. He looked beautiful when wet. His ivory coloured skin against my pale white one made it seem perfectly mismatched. Such love. Almost complete.
His lips felt my face, and caressed it smoothly. And then, they stopped, on my lips. And remained there.

Some unreal love happened.