Chapter 3: The Relic

Outside, a cold drizzle had started. Cold drops slipped down the back of my neck, soaking into my dress. The city’s lights blurred through the rain, a watercolor mess.

A couple stood under the awning near me, whispering. College kids, probably NYU or Columbia.

The boy shrugged off his jacket, wrapped it around the girl, and they dashed into the rain, arms tight around each other, laughing. Love made them brave, or maybe just reckless.

I watched them pile into a waiting Uber, safe from the storm. When had I become the outsider, just watching other people’s love stories from the curb?

I felt like I’d forgotten something, but my mind was all static. I drifted home to our—his—Upper West Side brownstone, started packing my things from what used to be our bedroom.

At the bottom of a box, I found it: one of those cheap, clear plastic umbrellas from the corner bodega, the kind that always flipped inside out in a gust. Tears came before I could stop them. The dam broke.

The inside of the umbrella was scribbled with my favorite cartoon characters in black marker—Totoro, Sailor Moon, hearts and stars. Childish, hopelessly sentimental.

One day after school, a sudden downpour had caught us all off guard. We’d planned to cram for the SATs at Jessica’s place, probably order greasy pizza and pretend to study.

I saw Michael, my desk mate, standing under the eaves, looking small and alone. The boy who’d lost both parents that winter.

He must’ve forgotten an umbrella. Or maybe he just didn’t care about getting wet anymore. No one left to pick him up, no mom to fuss over him.

I felt something soft break open inside me. After a minute, I pressed the umbrella into his hand, fingers brushing his.

"You don’t need to return it! Consider it thanks for teaching me math," I blurted, trying to sound cool.

I played it off, hiding my feelings, gave away my favorite umbrella—the one I’d doodled all over, the one that meant everything.

I didn’t even look back, just ran off under Jessica’s umbrella. "Come on, Jess, we’re getting soaked!"

She laughed at my burning cheeks. "Oh my god, Sarah, you’re so obvious!"

I shoved her, pretending to be mad, but I couldn’t help glancing back through the rain. Just once. Maybe twice.

Michael, in his blue-and-white uniform, stood out in the crowd, clutching that umbrella like it was priceless.

The next day, it rained again, softer this time. I was a nervous wreck, but I remember every detail—how he shook off his jacket, ran his fingers through wet hair, and carefully wiped down the umbrella with a soft handkerchief. His mom’s, he’d tell me later. One of the only things he had left.

He tucked the umbrella away with his textbooks, as if it was sacred.

He caught me staring. Smiled—his first real smile in months. "I’ll treasure it forever," he whispered, so only I could hear.

Back then, we hadn’t said anything out loud, but our hearts knew. He meant he’d treasure me forever. And I’d believed him. God, how I’d believed him.

Sometime in the night, the rain stopped. I wiped my face, packed away the girl who’d loved so recklessly.

I picked up that umbrella—old, yellowed, drawings blurred, frame rusted and rotten, smelling like mold. I stared at it, this relic of a girl who loved too easily, and wondered when loving him had started to rot me from the inside out, too.

The sky began to lighten. I stood up, tossed the umbrella in the metal bin. It landed with a clang.

Then, without thinking, I dialed Michael’s number. My fingers remembered it, even if my heart didn’t.

That old spring rain—it was time for it to end.