Loving the Rain

‘I love the rain,’ he said, closing his eyes and tipping his head up to the sky.

‘Really?’

The rain grew harder, flooding his feet. He opened his eyes to a woman surfacing from an inch-deep puddle as if from the depths of the ocean. 

Her hair was lank and thick with grit. Her skin was mud-slicked, and her eyes were dark holes in which he could see stormcloud skies. She hung her head, suddenly shy.

‘Really.’ He held out his hands, and she took them.

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