Alya

Summer rain had always been our refuge. We ran into it like children, laughing at every drop that hit our skin. Today it was different. Heavy, cold, as if each fall carried the weight of our unspoken words. A car approached in the distance, its headlights cutting through the veil of water like two mournful eyes.
Alya jumped, her hands flying upward, as if trying to grasp every second of this moment, to imprint it forever in her memory. The other girl simply stood there, feeling the cold seep under her shirt, recalling all their promises, all the "forever" that were now dissolving in puddles.
Tomorrow Alya will leave. To another city, another life. This rain, this last shared dance under the gray sky, will become just an echo. The car passed by, splashing them, and its headlights disappeared around the bend. Their path also parted. And only the rain continued to silently weep for them both, washing away the traces of their bare feet from the wet asphalt.