She had once described him as a fleeting array of raging storm clouds. Someone who was hiding a thousand hurricanes inside him, features hard and stoic with a pinch of tenderness if you looked closely enough and eyes with a faraway look in them, calm on the surface. When he spoke, his voice would carve words into the air a low hum of thunder that would draw her out of her hazy thoughts. At night she held his hands as they trembled.
And she had a love strong enough to survive a thousand hurricanes.
Now was the day, 21st of January. He wore his best suit and shoes, combed his hair, and brushed his teeth. He brought her flowers– white carnations, her favorite. He went to the bus stop and sat on the bench with the bouquet on his right hand. Above him, the sky dimmed, released a sudden downpour. The streets almost emptied as people ran for shelter. His suit was drenched and the flowers were damp and wilted. He kept seated.
He would stay there until five o'clock, reminiscing the times before the car crash when she would rush out of the bus towards him, enveloping him into a tight embrace and kissing him senseless… He would leave the flowers on the bench and walk home alone with a sad smile on his face.