It was a dreary night; one so poor and stormy that no one would ever guess it was actually a happy occasion. Barney and Robin had just tied the knot, with an unsurprisingly extravagant ceremony, and everyone was ecstatic for them. Well, almost everyone.

Ted Mosby couldn't be more miserable. The one girl he'd felt so sure he'd eventually end up marrying was out of the picture. She was claimed in a way that he couldn't interfere with, and he would never even if he wanted to. Robin would never be his, and it ate at him in a way he couldn't even describe. So, instead of bringing everyone at the after party down and making his unhappiness obvious, he left. Currently, he was sitting on a bench at the Farhampton train station under an onning to avoid the rain, rereading Love in the Time of Cholera for the umpteenth time. It was almost sadistic of him to read it given the current situation; a book in which the girl of the main character's dreams marries another man, and years later he shows up at his funeral to win her back. He'd never do that to Barney… would he?

Of course he wouldn't. Sighing, Ted shook his head. He'd spent roughly an hour telling the woman on the bench beside him his sob story, and when she'd gotten tired of him he'd resorted to reading the one book he always carried with him when he traveled. It was just a coincidence. Jumping when he heard a crack of thunder overhead, Ted caught sight of the last thing he expected to see on this dreary, pathetic night; a ray of light.

Not the train headlights, or stars, or even a sliver of the moon; no, it was a figurative ray of light. Just a glimpse, and for a second he thought he was seeing things. But no, there it was, sticking out like a sore thumb in the middle of such a depressing atmosphere; a yellow umbrella. Had it been any other colour, Ted would have just brushed it off carelessly, but it was yellow. He'd given up on destiny a long time ago, but for just a sliver of an instant, hope of its existence flared up in him again. That umbrella looked exactly like the one he'd found at the location of that crap St. Patrick's Day party he'd let Barney convince him to go to; the same umbrella he'd left at Cindy's place when she dumped him; Cindy, who happened to have a roommate who had sounded like the perfect girl; the perfect girl whom, if Ted remembered correctly, happened to be in the band that had played at the very wedding he'd just been attending.

Destiny.

But what if it wasn't? He'd been so sure his past relationships had been destiny in the making, and look how they all turned out. All "destiny" had ever done was burn him and bite him in the ass for believing in it.

Yet, just as the pessimistic thoughts entered his mind, a gust of wind from the oncoming storm blew their way, catching the girl's umbrella and tearing it from her hand, leaving her standing in the downpour. Jumping to his feet without thinking; he told himself it was out of common courtesy; Ted dropped his book on the bench and ran after it, getting decently wet himself before he finally caught the umbrella, realizing for certain as soon as he did that it had been "his" yellow umbrella; it had a small knick in the handle from that time he got it caught in the door on the way into his apartment. Hurrying back to the girl, who looked like a drowned rat now, Ted held the umbrella over the two of them, causing a small smile to pull at her lips.

"Thanks," she said, clutching her guitar case as her hair clung to her cheeks, her jacket soaked.

"Don't mention it," Ted insisted, extending his freehand to her, "I'm Ted. Ted Mosby."

"Mosby?" she asked, shaking his hand before pushing her wet hair out of her face, "Weren't you at the Stinson wedding?"

"Yeah," he answered simply, forcing a small smile.

"Then what are you doing at the train station?" she questioned over the pounding of the rain on her umbrella, "Shouldn't you be at some fancy after party?"

"Shouldn't you?" he asked her simply, wondering why she wasn't still playing with the rest of the band. "I saw you at the reception. You're good; great, actually."

She blushed at his words, clearly flattered, but shook her head. "A friend of mine was at the wedding; she asked if I could babysit for her tomorrow, so I have to head back to New York."

Ted was willing to bet that friend was Cindy, but he didn't want to mention that just yet. "Oh."

"Thank you, by the way," she added in, blushing more with embarrassment for her lack of manners, "for the compliment. I've been playing for nearly ten years…"

Grinning, Ted nodded. "I've always liked a woman who plays bass."

She laughed at that, and he observed the way her eyes twinkled when she did so. He could see why this girl had stolen away so many girls from Cindy, as awful as it was for him to think; she was captivating in a sweet, charming sort of way. He wanted to know her.

"Dear!"

Blinking, Ted turned when he heard the woman on the bench call out to him. "Uh… yes?"

"You forgot your book!"

"Oh."

Reluctantly, he gave the girl back her umbrella to go get the book. Pleased when he heard her follow and put the umbrella down when she was under the onning, he looked up when she said, "Love in the Time of Cholera? That's my favorite book!"

Smiling widely, Ted nodded in agreement, flipping the pages absently. "Mine too. I've read it at least twenty times."

She opened her mouth, clearly about to launch into a full blown conversation about the novel, but she was cut off by the train whistle not far in the distance.

They ended up sitting together on the ride back to New York, discussing books and life in general. He learned that her name was Jessica Milonsi, and she was an Aquarius. She liked Star Wars nearly as much as he did, painted robots playing sports for fun (which he had already known, but oh well), and she'd been in a few musicals back in college. This lead to him finding out that she had been in that disastrous Economics class he'd accidentally tried to teach his first day at the university. He'd been humiliated when she said so, certain she wouldn't want to be involved with someone who couldn't even spell "professor", but was surprised to discover she'd thought his mistake was endearing. If only she'd said so that day, it may have saved him a lot of time and heartache.

Around what Ted assumed was probably three in the morning she fell asleep in the seat beside him after they shared a few cookies, her head lolling on his arm as she curled up in her seat. He couldn't help but smile. Sure, she was no Robin Scherbatsky, but she was wonderful in her own way. She was different. She was special.

All because of that ridiculous yellow umbrella, he may have just stumbled upon the biggest adventure of his entire life.