This is what she had wanted. With a maddening urgency and desperation, like thirst for water after a long spell of draught. So what if the rains came four months ago, and had drenched her. With moisture soaking into clothes, bones, walls, books, roofs.
So what…she still wanted it to rain and rain and drench every tile on her floor, seep into every crevice and drench her inside out. She still wanted it to wash over her, leave her feeling heady and wanted. Because she had known draught for 20 long years and four months of water could do no justice to her longing.
She did not want dry floors and she did not want dry clothes. She loved the coldness that seeped into her skin when she wore half dry clothes. She loved it when water splashed on her on roads, when a vehicle passing by sped by. The mud, the muck, the storms, the thunder, the lightning. All of that.
Especially on this night when it had not rained. Especially when it was damp and sweaty and the air around her swelled with the heat that it could no longer absorb. She twisted and turned in her bed, rumpled up the sheets, reached for the window, hoping she could grab a passing cloud and beg it to soak her to the skin. But she could not. And it ended there.
She checked the weather reports, hoping they would hint at oncoming rains again. But they did not – it’s not time yet – there was some reason or the other. So she savoured the memory of the rains gone by, her desire looming out of her control. Until she stopped waiting.
She walked to the terrace, looked quietly up at the clouds that were unaware of her, of how long she had waited. She spoke a language they did not understand. She had eyes that they could not decipher. And quietly, she let go of the madness that was assaulting her every nerve, every night and every day.
It has been a while now that the clouds have not taken notice. It has been a while now since she stopped waiting. It did rain again. She walked out of the door and let it soak her. She stayed for a few minutes, sneezed and went back in, grabbing a towel to dry her hair. Something she would never have done before. It does not matter anymore. The clouds will never know, too caught up in their heights to notice.
Will they ever know that they lost a lover?
Reema Prasanna is a Search Engine Marketing expert, Xoogler, baking expert and blogger. More about her here http://about.me/reema.prasanna