The Day It Rained
From the novel When the River Meets the Sea
By Mavin Simai
The rain started before I even reached the river.
At first it was just a soft drizzle—thin drops tapping quietly against the leaves above the path. The sky had turned a dull gray, and the wind carried the smell of wet earth.
Most people would have stayed home.
But habits are difficult things to break.
Especially new ones.
By the time I reached the riverbank, the rain had grown heavier. The water surface rippled endlessly, each drop disappearing into the current as quickly as it arrived.
For a moment I wondered if Amina would come.
Then I saw her.
She stood beneath the tall acacia tree, holding her sketchbook under her arm and trying to shield herself from the rain with the thin branches above her.
“You came,” I said, stepping closer.
She turned toward me with a surprised expression.
“You came too.”
“I thought the rain might stop you.”
She laughed softly.
“It almost did.”
The rain intensified slightly, tapping harder against the leaves. The small shelter beneath the tree was clearly not enough.
“We should move,” I said.
“Where?”
“The dock has a small roof near the end.”
“It leaks,” she said.
“Only a little.”
She considered it.
“Fine.”
We ran toward the dock.
The wooden boards were slippery beneath our feet, and the rain soaked through our clothes almost immediately. By the time we reached the small covered section at the end, both of us were already laughing.
The roof did leak.
More than a little.
But it still blocked most of the rain.
We stood there catching our breath while the storm continued around us. The river looked darker now, its surface broken by thousands of falling drops.
“It’s beautiful,” Amina said quietly.
“In a dramatic kind of way.”
She stepped closer to the edge of the dock and stretched out her hand beyond the roof. The rain landed gently against her palm.
“You don’t see the river like this every day,” she said.
“That’s because normal people avoid storms.”
She glanced at me.
“And yet here you are.”
“Habit,” I said.
She smiled.
For a moment the only sound between us was the rain hitting the roof above our heads.
Then she opened her sketchbook.
“You’re drawing in the rain?” I asked.
“Why not?”
The pencil moved quickly across the page.
“What are you drawing?” I asked.
“The storm.”
“That seems ambitious.”
“It’s easier than you think.”
I leaned slightly closer to see.
She had started sketching the dock—the slanted lines of the roof, the dark water beneath, the blurred shape of the trees in the distance.
“You forgot something,” I said.
“What?”
I pointed at the empty space beneath the roof.
“You’re standing there.”
She glanced at the space and smiled.
“Maybe I’ll add that later.”
Thunder rolled faintly somewhere in the distance.
Not loud.
Just enough to remind us that the storm was still building.
“Were you ever afraid of storms when you were younger?” she asked suddenly.
“All the time.”
“What changed?”
“I realized they always pass.”
She nodded thoughtfully.
“That’s a good way to look at things.”
The rain began to slow slightly.
The heavy drops softened into a gentle rhythm again, turning the river surface into a mosaic of small ripples.
Amina closed her sketchbook.
“I used to love storms when I lived near the ocean,” she said.
“Why?”
“The waves would grow huge. The wind would push them higher and higher.”
“That sounds dangerous.”
“It was,” she said. “But it was also exciting.”
She leaned against the wooden railing.
“My father used to stand outside during storms just to watch the sea.”
“Your father sounds fearless.”
“He wasn’t fearless,” she said softly. “He just believed the sea was honest.”
“Honest?”
“It never pretended to be calm when it wasn’t.”
The words stayed with me.
We watched the river quietly for a while longer.
The rain continued fading until only a light drizzle remained.
Eventually Amina stepped away from the railing.
“I should go before the storm changes its mind.”
“Probably wise.”
We walked back along the dock carefully, the wet boards creaking beneath our feet.
At the fork in the path she stopped again, like she always did.
But this time she looked back toward the river before speaking.
“Today was different,” she said.
“Because of the rain?”
“Because of the storm,” she corrected.
I nodded.
Storms had a strange way of changing the mood of everything.
She started walking toward town, then paused.
“Oh,” she said, turning back slightly.
“You still owe me a rematch with the stones.”
I smiled.
“Tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow.”
She disappeared between the trees a moment later.
I stood there watching the river again.
The rain had almost completely stopped now.
Small drops still fell from the leaves above, creating tiny circles on the water before drifting away with the current.
Storms always pass.
But sometimes they leave something behind.
And I had a feeling this one just had.
Next Episode: The Sketchbook