The Rains Novels & Stories

Behind her, Damian approached without making a sound. He sat beside her. "Writing?" She nodded. "I think it's time someone recorded the story honestly." He looked towards the lights of Lagos shimmering in the distance. "What will you call it?" Amara followed his gaze. Rain began to fall once more, soft enough to glisten beneath the city lights. A peaceful smile spread across her face. She answered without hesitation. "Beneath Lagos Rain." The two of them sat together in comfortable silence as the rain whispered over the mountain and the city below.

My wife Naomi Holden's phone was always on silent mode. Whenever I needed to reach her, the call never went through. My only option was to ask everyone around us, but when every single person gave a different answer, I already knew the truth. She was with him again, the frail man she had never been able to let go of. On our seventh anniversary, we had plans to meet at our usual spot for dinner. Three hours passed, and she still had not shown up. I stood on the street, burning with fever, dialing one number after another. My father picked up, his voice warm and unhurried. "Naomi just came by for dinner. Don't worry, I've got my eye on her for you." A friend working at her company lau

{‘Heaven knows we need never be ashamed of our tears, for they are rain upon the blinding dust of earth, overlying our hard hearts.’} The rain was pouring hard over the damp soil of the cemetery. Looking up, the sky seemed in agony and in greatest sympathy. I gripped my black umbrella hard as I refused to accept that the person inside the casket deserved this kind of cry from heaven.

In front of Anushka's eyes is a handsome young man who is calling 'Rama. 'Rama' after losing her anger. Grandmother one day said her nickname was Rama. That person, whom she had no chance to see, was suffering a lot on this rainy night. The character of monsoon rain is different from that of winter brought rain. Now it rains heavily at night, but it stops at daybreak. No matter how heavy the face of the sky, morning comes like morning.

The gentle patter of rain against the windowpane provides a soothing backdrop, a natural symphony that matches the rhythm of my troubled thoughts. In this moment of solitude, I let the tears flow freely, mingling with the rain that caresses my face. Each droplet seems to carry away a fraction of my anguish as if nature itself is trying to wash away my pain. The rain becomes my silent confidante, listening to the whispers of my sorrow and offering solace in its gentle embrace.

he asked, genuinely interested in her perspective. Fiona smiled, appreciating Scott's genuine interest in her perspective. She took a moment to gather her thoughts before responding. "Well, Scott, there are a few things I really enjoy about rainy days," Fiona began. "Firstly, I find the sound of raindrops hitting various surfaces incredibly soothing. It creates a calming ambiance that helps me relax and focus. It's almost like a natural white noise that drowns out any other distractions, and the scent of the sand is totally amazing."

he said "I'll pass" "I insist" "You can make me listen to it but you can't make me develop interest in it" he asserted. I felt my strength draining away from the not-so-long conversation and didn't want to argue further so I threw my hands up in surrender. Let's save the argument for another day, I thought, then I caught myself in mid-thought. Another day? Was I subconsciously wishing to see this Tim again? I scoffed at my thoughts. The rain had stopped then and the perfect curvature of the rainbow cast over the evening sky.

The rain had just ceased, leaving behind a symphony of glistening droplets on every surface. The world outside the window had transformed into a watercolor painting, where hues of green and brown melded seamlessly with the gray clouds still lingering in the sky. It was a scene that captured the essence of a monsoon morning—refreshing, rejuvenating, and utterly captivating.

How would he feel if I was out every night running parties at bars? Then thunder began rumbling, lightning flashed across the stage, and Iona segued into “It’s Raining Men,” by the Weather Girls. The video screen behind was filled with a collage of dripping wet men, in various stages of undress -- Adonises rising out of swimming pools paired next to Gene Kelly in his wet raincoat from Singin’ in the Rain.

Raven’s POV It rained for four days straight,it wasn't a soft drizzle or the cinematic kind. Just sky-emptying, bone-saturating rain that made the walls weep and the pipes hum like dying monks. Brio hated it as he refused to go outside. He stared at the door like it had betrayed him. Elias loved it,he said the sky was finally being honest. Matteo tolerated it, saying it was good for the basil. I watched the water crawl down the window and wondered if healing had a sound. Maybe it was this.