The First Love

The rain poured mercilessly, a steady curtain of silver falling from a sky the color of bruised steel. It wasn’t a soft or gentle rain—it was the kind that soaked through clothes and skin and bone, the kind that made streetlights blur into glowing halos and turned the pavement into a trembling mirror.

Anna stood motionless in front of the house where he lived. Her shoes were already filled with cold water, her hair clung to her cheeks, her fingers trembled from the chill, but she didn’t move. The light in his room was still on. Through the thin white curtains, his silhouette appeared and disappeared like a ghost - moving, bending down, lifting something, turning away. He was packing his things, getting ready for a trip. A trip she was no longer part of.

She watched the shadow of his arm reach for a shelf, then vanish. She liked how the rain hid her tears, how it masked her trembling. There was something comforting in the cold needles of water striking her skin. She liked the numbness creeping into her fingertips, the shiver running through her whole body. For a moment, she felt strangely alive - alive in a way she hadn’t felt since the moment she died inside from his words:

“We have to break up. Our paths are going separate ways.”

The memory of those words rang in her ears again, louder than the rain. She remembered every detail—his steady voice, his serious eyes, the way he avoided looking at her hands as she reached out. She remembered how she nodded, pretending she understood, pretending she accepted something she wasn’t prepared for. And now she was here, standing under the pouring rain, because walking away had been harder than she imagined.

She didn’t know how long she had been standing there. Minutes? An hour? The world outside her pain had blurred. She only came back to reality when a car slowed to a stop somewhere nearby. The headlights cut through the rain like two sharp blades. A door opened, and a woman stepped out - a graceful silhouette wrapped in a beige coat, holding an umbrella that bloomed open with a soft whoosh.

The woman hurried toward her.

“Miss, you’ll catch a cold,” she said, her voice warm and firm. “Here, take the umbrella.”

Anna blinked, confused by the sudden presence of another human in her little universe of heartbreak.

The woman reached forward and tilted the umbrella over both of them. Rain drummed loudly on its surface, creating a dome of shelter around them.

“Do you need a ride home?” the woman asked gently.

Anna tried to speak but her throat clenched. She looked at the woman with a faint, broken smile. Something flickered in the woman’s dark eyes - pity, recognition, and a quiet understanding only people who have suffered heartbreak carry.

“Did someone break your heart, my dear?”

Anna lowered her head. She didn’t answer. She didn’t need to.

The woman stepped closer, standing beside her silently. For a few seconds, they simply existed together in the rain.

Then, almost unwillingly, Anna lifted her gaze back to the glowing window where his silhouette still moved in calm, oblivious rhythm. The woman followed her eyes. She didn’t ask questions. She understood enough.

She adjusted the umbrella so they could both shelter from the rain, though it hardly made a difference now. Anna was soaked to the bone, her clothes heavy and clinging to her skin. Her long chestnut hair dripped water down her neck and shoulders. Only her eyes remained alive and burning, fixed on that window like it held the last spark of warmth left in her world.

Raindrops beat a sad, almost musical rhythm on the umbrella. The sound was steady, comforting, like a heartbeat Anna leaned into. She listened, watching the light flicker behind the curtains and the silhouette moving inside the room. A sorrowful smile ghosted her lips. Tears streamed down her face, mixing seamlessly with the rain.

The woman in the beige coat kept glancing at Anna, then back at the window, exhaling softly each time. Her expression changed with every breath - first pity, then sorrow, then a silent acceptance.

They stood like that for almost half an hour, without a word passing between them, as if time had frozen to give Anna space to say her silent goodbye.

Then, without warning, the light in the window flicked off.

Anna’s breath hitched.

With that small, simple action, something inside her extinguished too.

The darkness behind the glass felt final, like a door slamming shut. Her chest tightened until she felt she couldn’t breathe. It was as if someone reached inside her and twisted a blade.

The pain radiated through her body so sharply she staggered. She gasped for air, her knees buckling. The woman reacted quickly, catching her under the arms before she collapsed into the cold mud.

“Let’s go home,” the woman whispered, her voice steady as stone.

Anna didn’t resist. She followed mechanically as the woman guided her to the car. Her legs felt numb, her heart even more so.

Inside the car, everything smelled of warm leather and faint vanilla, contrasting painfully with the cold storm outside. Anna leaned her head back, her wet clothes sticking to the seat.

“Where do you live?” the woman asked.

Anna fumbled in her pocket and pulled out her soaked phone. The screen flickered, showing a warning sign—water damage. She exhaled a shaky breath.

“I live on Lantern Street,” she whispered.

The woman nodded and said nothing more. She started the engine, and they drove through the quiet, rain-drenched streets. Streetlights reflected on the wet road like long streaks of liquid gold. Buildings passed by slowly, blurred through the fogged window.

After about fifteen minutes, the woman asked softly,

“How old are you, my girl?”

“Seventeen,” Anna said.

The woman’s eyes softened.

“First love?”

Anna swallowed hard. “The first…”

Her voice trembled.

“…and the last.”

Tears pricked her eyes again and spilled down her cheeks. Her shoulders began to shake.

“I want my mom,” she whispered as a sob escaped her.

“Come now,” the woman said gently. She parked and stepped out, circling around to help Anna. Together, they walked toward the building where Anna lived with her mother.

Anna rang the doorbell. Her mother opened almost immediately, her face filled with worry.

“Anna! Where were you? I was so worried!” She pulled Anna into a fierce embrace. “My poor girl, you’re completely soaked. Come, come, let’s get you changed. I’ll make you some tea.”

Anna turned back toward the street to thank the woman—but she was gone.

No trace.

No footsteps.

No umbrella.

Only the lingering warmth of her kindness.

The woman understood heartbreak—understood the fragile, painful beauty of first love and first disappointment. She walked back to her car, looked once more at the building where Anna now stood safe in her mother’s arms, smiled softly, and drove away into the rainy night.