Pitter-patter

And it rains finally.

The balcony doors open to welcome this most awaited guest and neighbours poke their heads out, watching the kids dancing in the rain.

"Feels a lot cooler, doesn't it now?" one of them asks loudly over the pitter-patter of the raindrops.

She smiles, catching water-drops in her palms and watching them slip away from the gaps between her fingers.

That's it? 'Cooler'? That simple? Lucky them.

She burns when it rains. Like a stone sending ripples on a peaceful surface of water, it disturbs her cover-up of the normalcy, her attempts to fit in.

Definitely not cooler.
Something like-
A train being missed...
The finality of a painful goodbye...
The tune of a remotely familiar song...
The onset of a new, unfamiliar, perhaps a scary beginning.

Because whenever it rains, it rains memories for her.