When all the other people in the town frowned beneath their umbrellas and hurried home to shut out the rain, Noa danced in it. She found her own small place in the eerily uninhabited street and swept across the cobblestones with grace, for once alone in the open and completely unashamed. The drops on rooftops and gentle moaning chorus of wind was a beautiful melody of nature; the raindrops that fell upon each and every rooftop without care for discerning who they fell upon were an illustration of perfection.
And he watched her, his breath clouding against the second story window, and smirked at the thought of the other townspeople, boarded up in their houses, frowning at the shamelessness of the wild 'Gitano' girl, but not having the boldness to venture into the rain to make their petty disapproval known. He let her dance, in awe of the beauty of her movement, and finally made his way to the front step of the inn, the echo of the door's latch slicing through the orchestra of raindrops. She froze, arms raised above her head, eyes half closed, chest heaving, pulled from a rare moment of bliss to see his figure in the dimly lit doorframe, a puff of steam rising from his breath into the chilled air. She lowered her arms and smiled slowly, unconcerned with the immodest way her clothes were plastered against her goosebumped flesh. It was only Alfons; there was no need for hiding.
They stared at one another in comfortable silence for what may have been minutes before he grew a wan smile and gestured for her return.
"You had better come inside," He said, "You'll catch your death of cold."