The Scribbling

She had a strange belief: whenever it rained, something good was bound to happen to her. When she was in class ten, it was raining as she was going to collect her marksheet, and she topped in her class. It was raining even the afternoon the postman arrived with the call letter for her first job. And it was again raining the day they first met: they had taken shelter in the front of a shop, but the shower was heavy and he had hesitatingly asked her if she could keep his book inside the Crossword bag she was holding.

So that night when it rained immediately after they ended up doing what they shouldn't have even thought of doing, considering that he had a faithful girlfriend and she a loving boyfriend, he heaved a sigh of relief as he rolled over. "Do you hear that? It's raining," he whispered. She clung to him like a child. "It's raining," he whispered again, straining all the muscles in his throat. She merely nodded and kept running her finger on his chest.

What's she scribbling on my chest, he wondered. Is it one of those geometrical figures you tend to scribble while you are nervous? Or was she scribbling his name or initials? Or was it her boyfriend's? Perhaps, she was practising her own signature? He tried to figure her finger movements for a while and then fell asleep. He woke up seven years later. A pretty woman had a hand and a leg over him. He removed the hand and leg carefully, so as not to wake her up, and walked across the hall to get the morning papers.