All of It Was Real

He waited for her in the rain, sheltering under the narrow roof of a lonely bus stop. They had been dating for about a month. Well, not really dating — more like meeting as good friends. Both felt a little out of fashion when it came to relationships.

A few times Anika had been late; a couple of times she hadn’t come at all, and the “date” had quietly dissolved. They were both slightly eccentric, slightly mysterious, each trying to solve the riddle of the other.

It looked like she was going to be late again.

The rain came from every direction, pushed by the wind, and Dane’s thin jacket was already sopping wet.

Anika was riding in a taxi, almost crying. She had spent a quarter of her weekly income just to arrive on time — and to pretend, for a moment, that she was as wealthy as Dane. The morning had been bright and promising. Who could predict that within hours public transport would collapse because of unexpectedly bad weather

He usually waited for her. But this time?

Why would a boy like Dane bother to stand in the rain?

He always seemed stylish, neat, content with his life — positive.

And she was always unlucky and clumsy.

Did she even deserve to be waited for?

Dane’s bike stood beside the bus stop — not new, but immaculate, its dark metal gleaming softly in the rain. It felt almost luxurious. He had brought an extra helmet for her.

Twenty minutes had passed.

She hadn’t called; her phone wasn’t answering.

Was she okay?

Anika cursed herself for being so careless, for not predicting the absence of buses from the suburbs where her grandmother used to live. The house was tiny, shabby, almost empty, with a small yard and a few apple trees — her shelter, simple and comfortable, but too far from the city. She had moved there after graduating, hoping to settle down and find a good job.

Instead, her life after university felt like a quiet disaster.

Her parents offered emotional support, but beyond words they had little to spare — they were barely managing their own lives, a thousand miles away. And then there was her phone: it looked decent, but it was unreliable, bought from a second-hand electronics shop. It had worked for two months before beginning to glitch consistently. Despite desperate attempts, she couldn’t revive it.

The taxi turned from a corner street and stopped at the bus stop.

Dane smiled, happy and soaked to the bone, as Anika got out.

“Sorry — traffic jam,” she said, blushing slightly at her lie.

They embraced.

“Oh my God, you’re drenched! I’m so sorry, Danny!”

She didn’t even care that she got wet herself.

“I summon rain. Someone has to,” he said playfully, handing her a helmet.

They took off.

Where? She didn’t mind.

Holding him tightly as they rode through puddled streets, Anika hoped it was real.

Her first boyfriend had broken up with her without ever getting into anything serious. "You want love? Forget it."

She had been called “ugly” in elementary school.

Her cousins never bothered to be friends with her.

Her grandmother had died when Anika was six; she remembered disappointing her somehow, being scolded — and also, vaguely, something warm: reading stories together on the couch.

Her mother often reminded her how her grandmother used to call her “uncontrolled” and “dangerous.”

Her parents were strict. Too serious. As if they had never really loved.

Her school friend Sarah tried to comfort Anika:

“You’re just unlucky. Don’t worry — you’re not a bad person.”

It never helped.

“Hold on!” Dane shouted as they crossed a huge puddle. Water splashed to both sides.

He was really focused now, driving a borrowed bike — which he had introduced to Anika as his own. He knew his uncle would be unhappy about every scratch and every speck of mud, and he was already planning a meticulous cleaning the next morning.

Dane worked as a sales agent in a small company, surviving on a modest salary and long hours. On weekends he did delivery jobs to make ends meet.

He was too shy to promote himself — but with Anika, it felt different.

As if she actually mattered.

He remembered how they had first met by accident in the park, when a gust of wind stole her umbrella. Instinctively, he ran forty yards before catching it. He remembered her shy smile when he handed it back.

That was the only time in his life he had dared to give a girl his number — yet he hadn’t asked for hers. Somehow, she had called him later, and they had started talking.

In real life, though, little had changed. Hard work. Low salary. And he tried to look richer than he really was.

They arrived at the bowling alley completely wet and rushed to the restroom to dry off. When they returned to rent shoes and pay for their lane, they looked as if they had just taken a shower.

“You look beautiful,” he said softly. “As always.”

She saw his cheeks redden.

Anika talked a lot, afraid he might find her boring.

But Danny seemed happy —

responding easily, picking things up, moving from movies to books,

from half-serious ideas to politics and back.

She avoided outright lies, choosing softened truths. Instead of saying she worked as a cashier despite her journalism degree, she said she was a manager at a book-printing company in a neighboring city. Her parents, in her version, were university professors rather than elementary school teachers.

She knew she would have to tell the truth one day. She wanted no secrets — but she was afraid of losing him. If he stayed one more day, it felt worth it.

Two games were enough. Dane won both. Five strikes. She cheered for him. He mentioned something about luck, praising each of her successful moves.

They liked to keep memories. But no Instagram or Facebook.

Just photos on their cameras. As if they were secret agents.

As they stepped outside, Dane looked almost dreamy.

“This might be the best rainy day of my life,” he said, glancing at the rain.

Anika nodded.

“When I was a child,” she replied after a pause, “I remember being scared of rain. It felt… just too wet.”

“Got it,” he smiled. “You must have been a cat in another life.”

They laughed.

That night she asked him not to see her off too far and took the subway to the train station. The rain continued.

Anika got home at 10 p.m. Not late enough to collapse into sleep, not early enough to do anything useful — but perfectly timed to revisit every fear and unresolved worry. She was almost disciplined about it; if she wanted to, she could have scheduled anxiety as part of her nightly routine.

“You are so ugly” — voices from childhood.

“You are uncontrolled” — from Mom and Granny.

“You look so beautiful as always” — from this night; she already doubted whether it was real.

“No one trusts you” — from her dad.

She remembered her mistakes and misfortunes.

Sitting with her notebook, she got a chime.

“Hey, darling, how are you?” her mom sent a message.

“I’m good.” She hesitated, wondering whether she should finally ask about it.

“Mom… did Granny… only scold me?” She hoped not. “Was I really that bad?”

Her mom sent a LOL.

“You were that kind of disaster, oh yes. Well, honey — not always. I want to think she loved you in her way… In general, all of us couldn’t get along well. What’s on your mind?”

“Don’t worry. All good. Just tired after work. Tomorrow is the weekend — I’ll be totally fine.”

A bolt of the brightest lightning struck, and the house went dark. Deafening thunder followed. The notebook’s dying battery gave up at last.

“Great,” Anika said to herself.

In the sudden darkness, the house felt unfamiliar.

The storm outside grew stronger; hail began falling from the dark sky.

She collapsed on the couch and must have fallen asleep.

The lights came back on and woke her.

Three o’clock in the morning.

It was pouring outside, puddles covering the whole yard, streams running along the road in front of her house.

The neighboring buildings were dark at that hour — not as shabby as hers, not really wealthy either.

Sleep was gone.

She took a shower and went to bed with a book.

Great Expectations by Dickens — one of her favorites. Her eyes ran over the next open page:

“I loved her against reason, against promise, against peace, against hope, against happiness, against all discouragement that could be.”

Could this be real? And if so, shouldn’t one strive for it?

Anika’s answer was yes.

And if he truly loved her, would he forgive her lie for the sake of love?

Moreover, did he deserve the truth?

Did she deserve to be herself?

The dream took her again…

She was on a plane, flying to the capital for university, with a transfer. A storm shook the aircraft violently. The man in the next seat turned toward her. Her first boyfriend, in a place he had no reason to be.

“Frightened?” he sneered. “You think you deserve love? Forget it.”

The plane lurched.

“Due to Anika’s uncontrolled character,” the flight attendant announced, “we are diverting to another city.”

People pointed at her. She burned with shame.

A distant airport. Nothing felt familiar. Her luggage was lost, and she was late for the connecting flight.

“Hey, ugly! Where’s your bag?” a tall classmate laughed.

“Unlucky,” Sarah beside her whispered, with something like compassion.

Anika knew it wasn’t real. She just had to endure. Everything would sort itself out.

The space around her faded.

She met her grandmother in her sunny garden after the rain.

Granny scolded her for being naughty.

Anika cried.

Then Granny stepped closer and hugged her.

“Sorry, darling,” she said softly. “Older people never mean to scare you.

They just try to care. Often awkwardly.”

Anika raised her wet eyes.

“For real?”

“For real-real-real,” Granny smiled.

She paused, looking at her granddaughter with that familiar warmth.

“I left something for you for when you grow up,”

Granny said, pointing vaguely toward the trees.

“I don’t know if you will ever find it… but I hope you will. Remember?”

Anika tried to remember.

She almost could.

Some blurred child’s memory of standing very small,

of looking up at leaves that seemed tall then,

of light breaking through branches,

and the calm certainty of being beside someone safe.

“You will know,” Granny said gently.

“You are loved. And you can love.

I never doubt you will have your happiness.”

Anika opened her eyes.

A dull morning welcomed her.

Slow rain, as if it were tired of struggling through the night.

She remembered the last day, Dane and bowling…

Actually, something else important had happened that week.

She had been interviewed for a better job she hoped so much to get. A better shop, better conditions. Not journalism, but still something more. As she was leaving, HR handed her a small paper note and said,

“Keep this. You have been shortlisted. Please have it with you next time.”

They shook hands.

Only now did she realize she had kept it in her pocket all along.

Should she forget about journalism?

The question stayed with her.

Anika noticed her phone on the table — the one that had been acting up — and pressed the power button. It worked!

With trembling fingers, but with sudden clarity, she sent a short text to Dane:

Dane, I’m really sorry.

I want to tell you the truth.

You mean the world to me.

I was just scared.

As if he had been waiting, the reply came within seconds.

I’m here, Anika.

After last night, I feel like I should be honest with you too.

And I don’t mind that you have secrets.

I trust you.

She smiled, tears in her eyes.

They decided to meet again that afternoon. Anika knew what to do — even if transportation collapsed again.

She finished a few chores and stepped into the yard. The sun was shining as if nothing had happened during the night.

She walked along the path toward the bench, stretched, and slipped her hand into her pocket. The paper note. Still slightly damp from yesterday’s rain.

She unfolded it and read again:

“You have been selected for the final interview. If we call you, bring it with you.”

Anika smiled at her thoughts…

when a sudden hard gust of wind — from nowhere — tore the paper from her hands and sent it into the sky.

For a split second, she panicked.

Then a strange idea came to her, one she didn’t dare finish.

Anika watched helplessly as her plans and hopes spun above the trees…

She turned toward the direction the wind had come from, almost as if she meant to scold it.

Another piece of paper was slowly drifting down before her eyes.

From the apple tree.

Anika remembered noticing it once in her childhood — something white tangled in the branches high above. When she had asked her parents about it, they had no idea. She couldn’t have climbed up there anyway, and soon she had forgotten about it.

Now it lay at her feet.

Not paper at all.

It was a tiny white plastic envelope, worn smooth by many years outdoors.

A thread, thinned and frayed by time, had finally broken, released by the gust.

She bent down to pick it up.

To Anika, it said.

Inside was a real letter.

The paper was fragile, yet carefully preserved.

“My sweetheart Anika,”

it began. A wave of warmth and sadness swept over her.

“Your parents and I are sometimes at odds, but God is my witness — I truly love them.

Forgive me for my character, and for the many times I was too hard.

I love you more than anything else.

Parents only become grandparents to grasp the true sense of joy. Only then do we begin to understand what truly matters.

My health has been failing this autumn, and I am not sure how much time I have left. Maybe this letter is a silly idea of mine. Perhaps one day I will smile at it and tell you everything myself — if I live long enough. But after everything that has happened, it felt like the only way I knew to say what was in my heart.

If you ever read these words, please know that you are the best and most beautiful part of my life. I ask forgiveness — from you, from your parents, and from Heaven — for being too strict, too awkward, too afraid to speak gently when it mattered most.

And if this letter is never found, let it still remain my confession before God.

You are worthy of the greatest love, and one day you will meet someone who truly cherishes you.

May you always be happy.

Forever,

Your Granny.”

Tears streamed down her face.

The worries felt small now.

The rain began again — suddenly, gently — a blind rain under a clear sky. Beyond the apple trees, a faint rainbow appeared, incomplete, almost unsure of itself.

Yesterday, she would have looked closer, doubting everything.

But some truths don’t need proof — they simply arrive.

Today, she knew.

All of it was real.