Rain is pelting against the windows of the coach bus I am in now, as I am reading a letter over and over. It must be more than just a coincidence.

The sky is crying. Perhaps it was you who sent the rain, to calm my heart.

154 kilometers to go. Holed up in this bus making its way to Kuala Lumpur, with nowhere to go and nothing to do but read the letter. Because I've become addicted to the words.

* * * * * *

I had a suspicion.

But I didn't dare to even open the mind to the ramifications.

The romanticist in me awoke, and she wanted a dream to clutch in her hands and pull it close to her bosom. But the pragmatist dismissed the moment as nothing more.

Who am I kidding? I had thought.

And the pragmatist usurped the hands, and made them type a cordial and diplomatic reply.

Because I had no idea where the stranger was coming from.

Perhaps I did. But I didn't want to believe. The idealist continued to slumber.

* * * * * *

The rain eased only minutes ago.

Now it is pouring once again.

In the distance I can see a gray sky hanging over the plantations we are passing. And the space in between heaven and earth glows a fiery orange. Just like what I had said before; sunshine in the same time and place with the rain.

As the coach bus negotiates a lazy bend, suddenly the sky breaks and the cabin is alit in sunlight.

And it is so beautiful.

Advertisement