When the rain stopped, Ian was standing under the eaves of a convenience store, watching the last few raindrops fall from the edge of the sign.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The sidewalk was washed until it gleamed, like the keys of an old piano that had just been polished. He glanced down at his watch; there were still twenty minutes until the last subway. At this hour, the streets were nearly deserted, with only the occasional headlights of passing cars in the distance, leaving blurry trails of light in the puddles.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He hadn\u2019t planned on going out. There was still half a carton of milk in the fridge, the blanket on the couch was still unfolded, and his phone screen glowed with unread messages. But he slipped on his jacket anyway, as if gently nudged by some invisible force.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The convenience store\u2019s automatic doors closed behind him, and a blast of cold air mixed with the scent of post-rain earth hit him in the face. He bought a cup of hot tea; the paper cup was so hot it turned the tips of his fingers slightly red. As he stepped out of the store, he heard someone call out behind him, \u201cSir, your umbrella.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Turning around, he saw a girl in a yellow raincoat holding out a folding umbrella. She ran over, pressed the umbrella into his hand, and said, \u201cYou dropped it just now. I chased after it for two blocks.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Ian froze, looking down at the umbrella in his hand\u2014dark blue, with a handle worn white. He remembered bringing his own umbrella, but his pockets were empty now.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cThank you,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The girl waved and turned, running off into the rain-soaked night, like a drop of water merging with another.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He opened the umbrella and continued on his way. The ribs were a bit loose, and the wind made it sway gently. He suddenly remembered that many years ago, his mother had had an umbrella just like this one; she would always lend it to neighbors on rainy days, then run home in the rain herself.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
At the end of the sidewalk, he spotted a stray cat crouched under a bench, its fur dripping wet, licking its paws. He crouched down, poured a little tea onto the paper cup lid, and pushed it toward the cat. The cat hesitated for a moment, lowered its head to take a lick, then looked up at him, its eyes gleaming like two pieces of amber under the streetlight.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He didn\u2019t move, just stood there quietly with the cat.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The sound of the subway pulling into the station drifted up from underground, like a distant sigh. He stood up, leaned his umbrella against the bench, and turned toward the staircase.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
After taking a few steps, he suddenly stopped and glanced back.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The cat was playing with the deep blue umbrella with its paws; the canopy was slightly open, like a flower blooming quietly in the night.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He smiled and continued down the stairs.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The damp air clung to his skin\u2014neither cold nor warm. He suddenly felt as though something had been lost, though perhaps it wasn\u2019t truly gone. Just like this rain\u2014once it had fallen, it remained on the ground, in the air, and on the handle of an umbrella handed to him by a stranger.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The subway doors opened, and light poured out. He stepped inside and sat down in the empty car.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Outside the window, the city breathed slowly in the stillness after the rain.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He closed his eyes and heard the sound of his own heartbeat\u2014steady, like raindrops falling on a roof.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
The Wet Sidewalk After the Rain<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":413,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[3],"tags":[18],"class_list":["post-412","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-feeling","tag-story"],"acf":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/storyrecyclebin.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/412","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/storyrecyclebin.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/storyrecyclebin.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/storyrecyclebin.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/storyrecyclebin.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=412"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/storyrecyclebin.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/412\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":414,"href":"https:\/\/storyrecyclebin.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/412\/revisions\/414"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/storyrecyclebin.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/413"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/storyrecyclebin.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=412"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/storyrecyclebin.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=412"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/storyrecyclebin.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=412"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}