Timely Rain – From the moment Emir and I got together, his friends had a bet going—a hefty wager on whether we’d make it past a month. Coming from a prominent, well-known family, he was influential in every way. When I first met him, my roommate had warned me, “The Emirs of Northborough aren’t ordinary people. You don’t want to mess with them.” “But Emir himself is supposed to be different. They say he’s easy to catch, never loses his temper with girls, and always parts on good terms with every ex.” That wasn’t just idle gossip. Between us, though, there was no real “pursuing” to speak of. Back then, I was in my second year of graduate school, deep in a research project with my thesis advisor. We needed a specific English monograph, long out of print and nearly impossible to find. I’d posted countless inquiries online, all vanishing without a trace. Just when I’d given up hope, someone finally replied.
His message was a mix of playful nonchalance and unexpected sincerity: “My family’s old man might have a copy. If you want it, get in touch. Call it my good deed for the day.” I contacted him immediately. To thank him, we met a few more times, and we hit it off. Under the streetlamp one evening, his features sharp and handsome in the glow, he raised an eyebrow as if struck by a thought. “So, will I see you again?” Again? Through seasons and years—would we? The moonlight was cool, the moment perfect. Saying “no” felt like a defeat. Against my better judgment, I smiled and, not one to back down, asked, “They say you’re easy to catch. True?” He looked at me, a grin spreading across his face. “Why don’t you try?” Young and inexperienced, meeting someone so carefree, confident, effortlessly strong—how could I not be drawn? Besides, I’d seen him before, long ago. I’d just arrived in the city when my wallet was snatched at the bus station, leaving me stranded. After filing a police report, the rain began to fall.
I was utterly lost, sobbing uncontrollably. He drove by, slowed, and called out, “Need a ride? Where to?” Of course, I didn’t dare get in. But he was patient. “I’m not a bad guy. Trust me this once, okay? Stop crying, hmm?” I’d always wanted to thank him after that, but we never crossed paths again. In a city so vast, with crowds everywhere, that chance encounter—exchanging a few words—was a rare thing indeed. Not long after that night under the streetlamp, we became a couple. When my roommate found out, she was speechless for a moment. Then she said, “Dating him must feel amazing, right? But I’ve heard he never keeps a girlfriend for more than two weeks.” “Just enjoy it while it lasts.” I agreed. Enjoy it while it lasts, I told myself.
Everyone has their naive moments. Back then, I thought love was simple—just follow your heart. Loving him, I ignored his past; all I wanted was a future with him. But later, I realized that wasn’t how it worked. Take that bet. Emir never kept a girlfriend for more than two weeks. So why did his friends—those young masters—bet on a month? It was much, much later that I learned the extra two weeks were because I bore a faint resemblance to his first love.