I love sitting by the window when it rains, dilly dallying over my bowl of soup or cup of coffee. I strain my nose to catch a whiff of wet earth and stretch my ears to listen to the distant song of the birds in their nests. It is then that I spot the woman in my window, quietly boring her eyes into me as if she can look right through me and to the other side.
When I first spotted her staring at me, her eyes morose and brimming with a dozen unfinished stories, I tried to shake her off. I sprinkled extra pepper in my soup and added more chocolate to my coffee. But she adamantly stayed put, belying all laws of physics, and obstructing my view of the trees across the road, the colourful umbrellas and the kids floating paper boats with their moms. All she left me with was a view of the slick mud, frail leaves that couldn’t stand the rain and shivering street dogs.
Whenever she appears, my living room grows cold, the curtains grow dull and my feet feel sticky with mud even after I wipe them clean. Then, I fervently miss the sun and pray that I can stop her from clawing her way into my heart, dragging me down in the dumps with her.
I detest her. Her name is Monsoon Blues.