Coffee, Rain, and Memories
It was raining heavily that afternoon. From behind the window of a small coffee shop on the corner of the city, Rana stared at the wet streets. Outside, people were running for shelter, while vehicles passed by with splashes of water that wet the sidewalk.
She blew softly on her cup of coffee, letting its bitter aroma fill the air around her. This place always reminded her of the past, of someone who had accompanied her here, sitting on the now empty bench in front of her.
In the past, every time it rained, Awan always came with a story. "You know, rain is like a memory," she once said. "Sometimes it's pleasant, sometimes it hurts, but there's always a trace."
Rana laughed at the time, thinking it was just a silly philosophy from someone who read too much. But now, as she sat alone with the sound of rain as a backdrop, the words felt more real.
Her cup of coffee was half gone. She glanced out the window, hoping to see a familiar figure passing by. But there were only vague shadows of people hurrying by. Awan had long since left, leaving this city and perhaps their memories as well.
But like the rain that always returns, so do the memories of him. Rana smiled slightly, took a sip of her last coffee, then got up. Maybe this rain was not just about memories, but also about new opportunities.
She stepped outside, let the rain wet her shoulders, then walked slowly towards a direction she had not yet determined.