There lived a young woman called Rain, eyes bright as emerald and hair like chocolate curly as a river. She longed to belong in the world, wishing on shooting stars for her wish to be granted. She loved rainy days for their refreshing beauty. Rain wasn’t afraid of anything, except the busy people and crying. The busy people would utter and say ‘she doesn’t fit in anywhere’ but I knew that was a lie.

One October morning, she tiptoed downstairs, softly caressing each step as she descended down to the front door, careful not to wake me. She knew that every day was a gift to be unwrapped and lived to the fullest; I had told her that. She blithely wandered down the narrow path towards Main Street. The busy people were hustling and bustling all around, dashing into cars, shopping and...