It was raining hard, the kind of pounding rain which thunders down on the roof and against the windows. I peered out of the window, waiting. I couldn't stop replaying our last conversation in my head. Well, it was hardly a conversation. We'd shouted - a lot. We'd screamed and yelled. I'd stormed home and crashed on my bed.
The house was silent. Home alone on a rainy day. I felt low, for several reasons. I felt horrible about the argument with Murray, and I felt lonely now, knowing he might never come back to me. The rain, however, pounded on and on regardless. The street below was empty. Not even a stray cat walked along the pavement.
And then suddenly, out of the corner of my eye I spotted a figure. I recognised him instantly. His broad chest, stocky outline. His black hoodie, zipped halfway up, hood up. His hands were shoved into the pockets of his jeans. Black, skinny, as usual. I smiled involuntarily at his odd gait, a slight limp developed from a broken leg years ago. It looked almost like a swagger. We sometimes mock him for it. He stopped below my window and looked up. I could see his shocking ginger fringe sticking out from under his hood.
I leapt away from the window, raced downstairs and pulled open the door, half expecting him to disappear..
But there he was. Soaking wet, and shivering but there. He looked so forlorn, his usually intimidating figure seeming to shrink.
"I'm so sorry," I wispered, throwing my arms around him. He tugged me tightly, and the water soaked through into my own clothes.
"I love you," he murmured, "Never forget that."