The Rainy Encounter    

[IRAYA]

I didn't think about it often, but for some reason, that day—the day I first met that stranger—kept slipping into my dreams when I least expected it.

It was four years ago, the first time I set foot in this country. I remember how the sky was heavy with clouds, dark and swollen with rain. The wind had a bite to it, cold and sharp, cutting through my jacket as I wandered aimlessly down unfamiliar streets.

I had just arrived, and everything felt foreign: the buildings, the language, even the way people walked by with hurried steps, heads down, umbrellas clutched tightly in their hands.

Back then, I was young, wide-eyed, and brimming with curiosity about the world outside my own. I wasn't used to the rain. Where I came from, rain was warm, soft, and gentle, but here, it was relentless, pounding against the pavement as though it had a grudge against the earth.