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A Spaceship Made Of Rain

A Spaceship Made Of Rain

2 mins 624 2 mins 624

On a drizzly evening, I was staring out of my bedroom window with a hot mug of coffee in my hands, taking a much-needed break from work. As I watched the steam float away, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee mixed with the scent of petrichor filled my lungs with warmth, I recalled a similar evening many seasons ago. I was six years old, staring at the streams of droplets falling from the extended roof of the building’s lobby with my best friend.


It was our personal tradition; every rainy afternoon when coming home from school, we would stop on the stairs that led to the lobby and stare at the drops falling from the roof, pretending that we were looking out of a spaceship. That day was the last time we could do this because I was relocating to another city and would leave sometime later. 

It must be our years of friendship, I had thought, that resulted in the tacit silence that spoke louder than any words could during that moment. Then Dad walked out of the elevator, breaking the tranquility by ushering me into the waiting car. 


I had resisted, drinking in the way her short curly hair billowed around her neck as she smiled sadly at me, her dimples visible. I was reminded of the times they had surfaced, when she sneaked her eggs onto my plate or whenever we buried mud balls in the park as if they were a treasure. I would miss her, a lot more than I knew at that moment. 


Then the car door was pushed close and I snapped out of my trance. The vehicle pulled out slowly as I waved furiously at her reducing figure, only stoping when she was no longer visible. I continued looking out of the window, every shop evoking emotions and memories that inevitably linked back to her. 


As I traced my finger aimlessly over the now clouded window, I promised myself that one day, I would buy back the house, the first home I had ever known and on a rainy day, stare at droplets falling from the roof again, with her by my side, to go back to the time when spaceships were made of rain. 


A bird call shook me out of my reminiscent, the coffee no longer warm. Clenching my fists in determination, I kept the cup aside and dove back into my work. 

I would buy back my home, come what may. 


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