8. Drakar

Isettle into the backseat of my car, the rhythmic patter of rain against the windows accompanying my thoughts after leaving work after another trying day. The driver glances at me through the rearview mirror, sensing my restlessness.

”Sir, is everything alright?” he asks, his voice laced with concern.

I sigh. ”No, not really. Recently I was gently prompted by a friend that I should marry a human woman to improve my public image. It”s been weighing on me.”

The driver nods. ”I can imagine, sir. It must be difficult to have such expectations thrust upon you.”

I lean back in the seat, peering out into the rain-soaked streets. ”You know,” I say, my voice contemplative. ”I saw a woman earlier today. I don”t know her name, but there was something about her, something truly captivating.”

The driver glances at me, curiosity evident in his eyes. ”It sounds like she made quite an impression, sir.”

I nod, a wistful smile playing at the corners of my lips. A brief silence hangs in the air, interrupted only by the sound of raindrops on the car roof. The driver breaks the stillness, his voice filled with genuine concern. ”Sir, I hope you find a way to navigate through these expectations. Your happiness should be a priority.”

I appreciate his concern and his unwavering loyalty. ”Thank you. That’s very kind.”

The storm outside is a fitting end to my tumultuous day. The raindrops trace delicate trails on the glass.

Movement outside catches my eye of a lone figure walking in the rain. It”s her, the woman from the golf club. She halts a defeated slump in her posture, hands cradling her head as if to keep the world at bay. The weight of her despair is palpable even from a distance, and something deep within me urges me to act.

“Stop here.”

The driver”s apprehensive voice fills the car cabin. ”Sir, are you sure about stopping in this rain? It”s pouring out there.”

I glance out the window, my eyes fixed on the lone figure walking in the deluge. The woman”s defeated posture and desperate expression tug at my heartstrings. ”Yes, I”m sure,” I reply, my voice firm but compassionate. ”Please pull over. I need to help that woman.”

Reluctantly, the driver nods, his worry etched across his face. ”Alright, sir. I”ll stop here. Just be careful out there.”

”Thank you,” I acknowledge with a nod. ”I will. Wait for me here.”

I reach over to the side pocket of the car door and pull out a sleek black umbrella. Gripping the umbrella”s handle, I open the car door and step out into the downpour.

The world around me transforms into a blurred tapestry of rain and shadow, the cold droplets instantly drenching my suit. The storm”s relentless assault intensifies as if nature itself mirrors the turmoil within me. But I am undeterred. The chaos of the storm only strengthens my resolve to offer solace to the woman standing alone in the rain.

I shield my face as I make my way towards her, feeling the wetness seep through my clothes. The rain cascades down, an unyielding torrent that drowns out all other sounds. Each step brings me closer to her, and the sight of her hunched figure becomes clearer through the mist.

My heart beats louder in my chest as I approach her, my footsteps echoing in the empty street. I can see the weariness etched on her face, the weight of the world crushing her spirit. It”s as if her burdens and mine share a common language, connecting us in this fleeting moment.

Without a word, I extend the umbrella above her, creating a small sanctuary against the storm. She looks up, her eyes wide with surprise and gratitude.

Without a word, she accepts. The raindrops bounce off the umbrella, merging with the symphony of the storm around us.

“Come on,” I say gently. “Let’s go somewhere dry.”

Her throat works and she nods, gratitude shining in her eyes.

We find refuge in a nearby café, the warmth of the interior a stark contrast to the chill of the storm outside. Across from me, she looks so small. She’s curled in on herself like the weight of the world is pressing in on her. It makes me want to do something. Hold her or say something that will make her unfurl. The urgency of the feelings catches me off guard. I force myself not to come off as too much.

I lean forward, my gaze one of genuine concern. My voice, softer than my appearance would suggest, cuts through the background noise.

”What”s happened?” I ask, my eyes, black and piercing, searching for answers in her warm brown ones.

A friendly waitress approaches, her smile warm and inviting. ”Good evening! What can I get for you today?”

I glance at the woman – Sally, she’s reminded me – a silent question passing between us. She hesitates for a moment before speaking. ”I”ll have a hot chocolate, please.”

The waitress jots down Sally”s order and turns to me. ”And for you, sir?”

I smile. ”I”ll have a cup of masala chai, please.”

As the waitress leaves to prepare our drinks, Sally looks at me with curiosity and sits up a bit. ”Masala chai? That”s one of my favorite drinks, too, but it”s not something you find everywhere.”

I raise an eyebrow, pleasantly surprised. ”Really? It”s one of my favorites as well. I grew up with it. It reminds me of my childhood.”

A spark of recognition lights up in Sally”s eyes. ”Me too! My grandmother used to make it for me whenever I visited her. The aroma, the warmth. It”s like a comforting embrace.”

She’s fully sitting up now and has a genuine smile on her face. I find myself smiling warmly at her as well. We gaze into each other’s eyes and I can almost feel something tangible between us.

Then the waitress is back with our drinks and the spell is momentarily broken.

I wrap my hands around the warm ceramic, savoring the fragrant spices that mingle with the rich tea. Sally takes a tentative sip of her hot chocolate, her face lighting up with a familiar delight.

”It”s just as I remember,” she says, a hint of nostalgia in her voice. ”The perfect blend of sweetness and warmth.”

I nod in agreement, taking a sip of my chai. The familiar flavors dance on my tongue, evoking memories of rainy afternoons spent sipping tea with my family. ”Indeed, it”s a taste that lingers in your heart. It”s amazing how certain things can transport us back to cherished moments.”

As Sally and I continue to sip our drinks, engrossed in conversation, something shifts in the atmosphere. The tension that had weighed heavily on Sally”s shoulders begins to melt away, replaced by a gradual relaxation. Her face, once etched with worry, now bears a hint of tranquility.

I observe her transformation with a gentle smile, appreciating the subtle change in her demeanor. A comfortable silence settles between us, the sound of raindrops against the windowpane providing a soothing backdrop. At this moment, words seem unnecessary, as if our unspoken understanding speaks volumes.