She Loved the Rain... I Became Her Umbrella

She was the kind of girl who smiled at strangers, danced barefoot in the rain, and spoke poetry through her eyes. I was just a boy sitting three rows behind her, learning to breathe each time she walked into the room. She loved the rain. I hated it. But I started carrying an umbrella, not for me—but for her. Whenever clouds gathered, so did my courage. I'd walk beside her, holding the umbrella quietly above her head, never asking for thanks, never asking for more. And she… she never asked why I always appeared when it rained. Maybe she knew. Maybe she didn’t care. In school corridors, at bus stops, on empty streets—we shared dozens of rainy walks. She talked about everything. I listened like her stories were sacred. I wanted to tell her that I liked the rain too… because it gave me reasons to walk beside her. Years passed. Seasons changed. But she? She fell in love with someone else. I was at her wedding. And it rained that day too. As they said their vows, I stood quietly under the same old umbrella, holding back a storm inside me. I never told her I loved her. But I hope the rain remembers.