When he first saw her, it was by accident - in the rain, striding, determined, certain. She glared at the rain that fell around her, almost daring it to her touch her.
He almost dropped the stack of books he needed ro reshelve - not because she was beautiful, not because she was charming, but becaue she looked so devestatingly angry.
The rain wasn't listening to her; her hair was flattened against her head, her clothing glistening, almost shining against the dark sky. Sun seemed to be attempting to get through - maybe if she glared hard enough at the rain it would disappear and the sun would be allowed through.
The second time he saw her it was raining harder, thunder rolled and lightening crashed against the sky. This time she was less certain, this time she was attempting to be balletic, dancing across the street, using her umbrella as a balance. She was less sure this time, more delicate - no anger this time, maybe fear.
He didn't drop his books this time. He smiled out at her - not that she'd ever see.
He may never understood those that didn't hide in libraries in the rain.
Ladygirl of a British persuasion; sometimes I actually write stories that aren't depressing (but not very often)
I write for the http://jupiter-palladium.com, which is a webcomic about superheroes. Interesting ones. Cute ones, too. Which is nice. (It's cheerier than most things I write. That's where the happy goes, guys.)