They say in yellow lane, clouds sail in streaks of silver, rarely does rain kiss the ground and no thunder would linger. Window panes and brick walls shine in golden light, bystanders seem as if they were holding sunlight. I wanted to capture that sight in a frame,One image I wanted to come by with my name. 2 miles I have walked, this was it, I could tell, but faster than my breath, in heavy stream, rain fell. 3 feet from where I stood the sun didn’t cease to shine. The rain had a border, a somewhat marginal line. Pacing a few steps I caught sight of somebody; by the rain, in the parting sun, a woman stood lonely. It wasn’t the photograph I had in mind, but the image I’ve captured was a remarkable find. She looked at me as if she had something to say, so I said ” I came short of luck, rain didn’t fall the other way”, a few steps more, rain was out of the way, moments that came after I cannot tell in a poetic say. My narration isn’t novel, my lines not sublime, this is the part of the story where I struggle to rhyme.
Eleven words had started what have been hours of conversation. I have learned from our talks that she is a lover of books and a record collector. I’ve also learned that she laughs in an awkward but adorable manner and that she has an uncanny ability of bringing in rain. She said it hardly rains on yellow lane but in a way rain has fallen every time she had ever visited. Time passed and countless words were exchanged. She said she needed to leave, and as she was about to, I asked her when I would see her again and she said “When rain falls here, I guess.” And she was gone. That night I found out that it only rains once a year in yellow lane. And so every day, for 364 days I passed by yellow lane, I came to the same spot at the same hour I’ve met her. It never rained. On the 365th day, as I was one left turn away from yellow lane, a car has come to hit my body. I cried that night, not out of my broken rib but out of the knowledge that it had rained in the lane that day. I thought of her, if she had been there earlier today. I thought about her laugh and how I loved it. And how I loved the way she talks of classical music, I loved the fact I had the same name as her favourite character, I loved the fact that she is the way that she is, and that I cannot deny that my heart was taken by her. She was my muse, she made my dreams a reality. The image I had of her took my career to heights that would last a lifetime. When my body healed I went back to my routine. And for another year I didn’t see her. It never rained in yellow lane for 365 days.
Day 732 of my yellow lane travel, it wasn’t raining but I found her there. I called her and she smiled at me. We had hours of talk as we did before, I showed her the picture I took around two years ago and how my life has been different since then. I was so caught up in my stories, in her laughter, in the reality that she was there with me, that it took me a while to notice the ring in her hand. My words had stopped, and cliché as it was, the clouds have lost their silver lining and rain began to fall. Chaplin was wrong, people see your tears even as the rain streams down your face. Once again, the rain and sun has divided the space that kept us apart. In a moment the reason for my tears started to change, she held out her hand in the air and waited for me to fit mine in to hers. She loved me, I saw it in her eyes. I smiled with no pretense, no regret of waiting hundreds of days, no hurt that her love for me didn’t last as long as mine did for her. I didn’t need a lifetime, I held her, that moment, and all the raindrops in between.