Chapter 5: Beautiful Rain

Up in the sky, I see the thick clouds gather,
Sharing a secret, laughing together
There was stillness in the air
A pin drop silence everywhere
As if she were breathing on my face,
Finding my arms the right place,
The jinx of silence broken by the thunder,
Forcing my loneliness & melancholy to surrender,
Drenched I was, with my love clasped tight in my arms,
Pouring out all her happiness & charms,
She entered my life to kill loneliness & pain,
She was none other than the
Beautiful Rain

- excerpt from "My First Love" by Shaan

Wolfgang never had time for religion. It did not seem logical, did not seem rational, and it did not help him survive his father's abuse.

He could never understand it either. Wolfgang had experienced so much brutality throughout his life. How could he feel comfortable with a divine being that condoned it all?

So when Wolfgang found himself leaning against an ancient stone column, smelling a particular combination of incense and piety, he watched the woman with pity and bafflement. "Gods don't give a shit about us," he told her. She paused in her worship, frozen.

And then there they were, together. Back in Berlin.

"I speak from experience." She slumped her shoulders at his words. Turning to him, a reproach shone in her deep brown eyes.

"Why won't you just leave me alone?" She pleaded.

Wolfgang threw his arms up in exasperation. "I tried!" He insisted. "Believe me, I try not to think of you – but every time, it brings me straight to you." Another rumble of thunder echoes across the sky, and they looked at each other for a few seconds, light and dark, devout and cynical.

Wolfgang shifted in the cafe's chair. The woman was barefoot, Wolfgang noticed. "At least…" she began, a note of capitulation in her tone,"… you're wearing clothes." Wolfgang laughed, surprised, glancing down at himself. Whenever he saw her, he felt lighter, happy. Even Felix had trouble inspiring that particular emotion in him. He smiled back at her, and she laughed, shooting a hint of a grin back at him.

Wolfgang reached down, patting the seat next to him imploringly. For a second, he was transported back to patting the sheets on her bed.

But, unlike the last invitation, she accepted the request, slowly walking over to slide onto the adjacent cafe chair. Wolfgang, entranced, watched her settle down, unable to school his features out of the smile that spanned his face. He blinked, drops of water weighing heavy on his eyelashes.

And there they were, together. On a white ledge in Mumbai.

The sudden warmth spread over Wolfgang like an enveloping cloud, and he sighed. He squinted as the bright sun angling across his face, and gazed at the surrounding scenery – the whites and creams of the buildings and the orange of the flowers, scattered around them both like lilies on water. "It's nice here," he stated simply. He looked up, feeling the heat of the sun. "The weather's shit in Berlin."

She blinks at him, and they're back in the deluge. Her smile was bright, even in Berlin's somber weather. "It rains like this in Bombay – but it's not so cold!" She exclaimed, rubbing her arms in a futile attempt to create friction. Without thinking, Wolfgang reached out, meaning to warm her, cupping her arm and the small of her back in a comforting motion. Her eyes met his, distinctly fragile and hurt in the shadowed light. Wolfgang slowly pulled away, regretful. She settled her arms in front of her, closing herself in, pushing him out.

"So tell me," Wolfgang said, unwilling to let her clam up. "Has he ever helped?"

"What?"

"Your God."

"Oh. Of course," the woman confirmed, straightening proudly.

"How?" She looked at him, incredulous.

"I asked him to stop my wedding. And he did." Wolfgang studied her face a few moments.

"You think he stopped your wedding?" He asked.

Her dark eyebrows drew together, her gaze just as intent on his face as his was on hers. "Do you have a better explanation?"

Wolfgang tilted his head a little. "So you think our connection… is a kind of miracle?" She looked at him a few moments more, and turned her head, staring at something off in the distance.

"If I were trying to describe this feeling," she said, her voice low and strangely intimate. "The sensation of experiencing the warmth of the sun, the smell of jasmine and marigold… while at the same time being soaked by a downpour at an outdoor cafe…" The woman turned closer to Wolfgang, droplets of water running down her face, a bead trickling down her nose and stopping at the bridge of her lips. Wolfgang watched her as she bit the rain-covered flesh consideringly, and he resisted the urge to lean closer. "The taste of strong coffee still in my mouth… I would say that the word 'miracle' is particularly appropriate. Wouldn't you?"

Wolfgang couldn't stop the expression of awe that spread over his face.

That's when he knew. It wasn't just that he couldn't stop thinking of her - it's that he wouldn't.