Time passed.
She never told me where she lived. I never asked.
She cried once. On a rainy Wednesday, of course. Her yellow umbrella was gone, and her eyes were red.
I asked what happened.
She said, "Some people leave, even if they love you."
And I said nothing.
We just sat there—close enough to feel warm, far enough to feel like strangers.
The next week, she kissed me.
No words. No build-up. Just a kiss in the rain.
It didn't feel like a beginning.
It felt like a goodbye wrapped in hope.
I was falling in love.
But I was already too late.