The Night It Rained - Part One

(Part one of the short story that I am writing)

It was one of those days when the rain was busy washing away the dust and the mud from the long winding streets from the small, hill town of Bilaswar. The boy stood waiting underneath the ledge of the bakery as the outpour from the dark skies continued. His shift had just ended. His job involved baking bread and cooking pies that had made the Russian owned bakery, a favorite jaunt for the tourists in the central bazaar of Bilaswar. There wasn’t much money in the job, as the owner seemed to keep most of the profits, but it was enough for the boy to get by. The inflow of foreigners and tourists to the place had kept the cash registers ringing. But tonight was different. Rain had kept most of the customers away and the owner had had a fight with his wife. Naturally, the boy had not gotten his full pay for the day.

The rain kept falling.

As he stood there waiting for the rain to stop, the boy heard the loud patter of the rain hitting the tin roof of the bakery. He watched cars splash water from puddles onto innocent pedestrians- people who, like him, had worked the entire day and were probably returning home hurriedly, people, who were eager to return home to see their loved ones. But the boy was in no hurry to reach home, if you could call it that. He lived in a dilapidated, one room apartment and there was no one waiting for him since the past several years. He had never seen the face of his father and his mother had died when he was 12.

“Ma, can I play in the rain”, he remembered asking his mother one rainy afternoon.

“Be careful, you might get all wet and catch a cold”, warned his mother.

Memories of running away carefree, making boats in these very puddles, smelling the fresh mountain breeze after the rain crossed his mind.

That was seven years ago. And now when there was no one to stop him from playing in the rain, yet he preferred to remain dry. After his mother died, the Russian couple who owned the bakery had taken kindly to him and offered him his mother’s job. That was not to say that things had been easy for him. His mother had taught him the secret recipes of the pies- apple, blueberry, lemon and everything and he had labored on for hours, practicing to make the perfect shape, get the right taste.

The rain began to stop and he could now faintly hear someone sobbing in the distance. The boy looked around and saw that most of the shops had been shut. The owners had probably realized that rain was playing spoilsport to their business and had shut shop early that night. He continued looking frantically for the mysterious person.

Then he saw her. She stood in the corner by a diner, shivering in cold, completely drenched and soaked from the rain, sobbing incessantly. There was no one around. So the boy walked up to her as she continued sobbing. As he reached up to her he was mesmerized by her beautiful face. Her beautiful brown hair, now wet, appeared slightly black.

“Are you alright?” he mumbled, mustering up enough courage to speak.