The sound of the pouring rain, like waterfall, seeped through the silence between one song after another. It weathered the cracks between moments we didn't speak into something as smooth as boulders that had been in the running river for decades.
We were smoking at the terrace of the building he was living in and it started raining. The shelter was built so high above, it couldn't have prevented the rain from splashing inside. He picked up our stuff and turned to look at me, "are you ready?" I was confused but I nodded yes.
He wrapped one arm around me and pressed my head against his chest, so it only rained on him. We ran the fastest we could to get to the driest spot at the terrace and waited until it stopped raining. Despite the effort, I had my hair and half my shoulder wet but oh, he was soaked in rain water. We laughed like children jumping puddles for fun. "Well at least you tried," I teased.
Only after ten minutes, the rain got heavier. I sneezed after a strong breeze had hit against me and blew out the fire inside. "Come closer," he said. I walked to his side and he held me very tightly as if it would light up the fire in me again.
We got back to his place when it had stopped raining. That night, he asked what he was to me. "I guess you're my shelter."
