An everyday romance, with a happy ending.
That year, the rain poured down. He held a tattered umbrella and brought me, soaked to the skin, back to his tiny fifteen-square-meter rental. The ginger tea was spicy, the bed was narrow, and the laundry detergent smelled clean. I thought he was the light that had rescued me from the abyss.
Only later did I understand: he was drowning, just like me. We simply took hold of each other’s hands and thought we could swim to shore.
When we were in love, he said I was his sun. After we broke up, I learned that the sun can burn you, too.
