She’s scrawled across the gravel, facing the dark sky with her mouth wide open. I hesitate for a moment. Her fragility scares me. It’s only when she stirs that I drop to my knees, splashing mud onto the both of us.

I prop my umbrella by her head, shielding her from the downpour and throwing myself into nature’s rhythmic chaos. As I fumble with my backpack, repulsed by the coarse touch of its drenched straps, she begins to emit a low guttural moan. The noise prompts me to caress her face — an instinct evoked by our shared past to soothe her worries — but my fingertips pause at her jaw. …

About

Icra. N

A broke university student.

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