Charles

London, present day. The roads are clogged with traffic jams, and you can't stop on the sidewalks without getting trampled.

You moved here a few years ago for work. You're a fashion designer: your designs have been exhibited in Paris a couple of times, and you're invited to social events. But you often sit at home, drawing or sewing: trips to the main department take too much time due to the perpetual traffic jams. This is a typical Londoner's morning routine.

One day, you have to go to the office to hand in your off-season sketches. You order a taxi, put on your headphones, and continue finishing your sketches: there's still traffic. You left early—you were expecting congestion on Tuesday morning.

Having finished work, you realize: without the traffic, the journey would have taken half an hour, but because of the accident at the intersection, it will take an hour or more. You look out the window and see a guy: sharp features, black hair, a warm gaze—like a morning coffee with milk—and a soft smile. In the gray of life, this is something bright. You write your number on a piece of paper, open the window, knock, hand over the paper—and the car starts moving.

From that moment on, the gray life begins to brighten up: you write to each other, sometimes meet in a cafe for lunch or dinner.

Finally, you meet again for dinner. You discuss the usual: how your day is, what's new. You don't care that you talked about this 10 minutes ago on the phone. Suddenly, he asks:

— What do you dream about?

You're surprised: he was always calm and more real than dreamy. You look out the window and sigh:

— For someone to kiss me in the rain...

You close your eyes, imagining it, and smile. Then you look at him:

• And you?

He also looks out the window, as if looking for something there, and answers:

— For it to rain.

At this moment the first drops of summer rain fall from the sky.