As the first rain lashes onto the ground, memories of my first love flood me. Everything seemed so romantic at that time. The fresh smell of the earth, the grey sky, the faint sound of thunder and the slight rustle of the cool breeze.
He would always pass by on his cycle, come rain or sunshine, just to get a glimpse of me. And I, waiting in earnest, with a hot cup of my evening tea, by my window side, listening for the familiar ring of the bell until he appeared.
At that young an age, just a sight of him would make me dance with glee. The joy knew no bounds. Once in a while we would encounter each other in the park, where I would gladly go with my younger siblings, knowing he would be there.
We’d casually greet each other and sit on the park bench, while the younger ones played. Those times together were especially precious since we rarely met otherwise.
We didn’t meet or speak to each other for the fear of being found out, and then there were the neighbors’ sharp tongues. But making no arrangements at all was convenient enough.
There were no complications in this relationship, no hurt, no pain.
Like most young first loves this too ceased to exist, and the relationship came to an end. It did hurt a little, but then there was no remorse.
For years the rain would keep me a little reminder of my first love, and now through the rain I can hear the faint ring of the cycle bell, maybe there are other young ones in love, playing a little game of hide and seek with their elders.
I still mark this season the most romantic one of the year, the one that gets the first loves together.
hey..... its too emotional
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