Still smoking puffs of cigarette out of his mouth, Harold walked out of the store only to find Isabella soaking wet standing in the middle of the alleyway, her arms extended on each side of her body, her head up, feeling the heavy droplets soaking her face. Standing in the middle of the storm, she looked fierce, so fearless feeling in control.
She heard Harold clear his throat and lean against an old parked truck. She dropped her hands looking at him with a small smile.
“I thought you hated the rain.” He smirked, letting go out a thick puff of smoke.
“Sometimes you like to embrace things you hate.” She said walking up to him in slow strides,
“Even though you claim to hate them with every fiber of your body, you challenge their existence, you still find yourself longing for them.”
