Raining Aesthetic Novels & Stories

I turn my attention back to the movie and see the main characters making out in the rain which causes me to jolt and sit up. "How could I forget!" I say as I get off the bed. "A new month, and it's raining outside. One of the things on my bucket list was to kiss in the rain remember?" He stays still for a minute, looking at me in disbelief. "I can't believe I'm doing this." He replies as he gets off the bed, causing me to laugh. "You hate the rain?" He nods. "It's a nuisance." "I love it, it's so aesthetic and beautiful and calming."

It came in the afternoon, fast and warm, the summer kind that felt more like being included than being rained on. They were at the market when it started. She ran for an awning and he followed and they stood there while the rain turned the square into something else entirely the stone going dark, the colours of the stalls deepening, the particular smell of warm stone in rain which was nothing like cold stone in rain and nothing like dry stone and was entirely its own thing. She had the sketchbook out before she'd consciously decided to. "In the rain," he said. "The rain changes everything," she said. "Different drawing."

I drink in the sight of him. His features are perfect, the rain accentuating the sharp lines of his jaw and the curve of his lips. The drops slide down his cheeks, glistening like gems, and I find myself lost in the depths of his eyes, every shade of blue swirling in the dim light. Everything slows, the rain turning into a gentle backdrop to this extraordinary moment. I can hardly process what's happening. Is this real?

The rain came softly at first. It streaked down the penthouse windows in lazy, glistening trails, blurring the city lights into watercolor hues. The storm had been forecasted, but Amelia welcomed it. After days of electric tension, of silences heavy with threat, something about the patter of rain felt cleansing. Like the sky, too, was finally grieving. Or preparing. She stood by the window wrapped in one of Adrian’s sweaters, oversized and worn in all the right places. The hem brushed her bare thighs as she cradled a mug of chamomile tea in her hands, her reflection merging with the glass and the city beyond.