The rain had started softly, a whisper against the rooftops, a gentle tap on the windowpanes of Accra. The sky, once bright, had faded into a deep, brooding gray. The scent of damp earth, mango trees, and distant sea salt curled through the air like a forgotten melody.

I pressed my forehead against the glass, tracing the path of a raindrop as it slid down. The streets below were alive in their own way—vendors pulling plastic sheets over their goods, children dashing barefoot through puddles, laughter carried by the storm’s breeze.

I wanted to be out there, to feel the rain kiss my skin.

But I didn’t move.

Something held me back.

A memory. A voice. A name I hadn't said out loud in years.

Then came the thunder.

A deep, growling boom that rattled the sky.

And then—lightning! A jagged silver streak slashed across the heavens, illuminating the rain-drenched city for a fleeting second.

And in that second, I saw him.

Standing across the street, beneath a flickering streetlamp, his dark silhouette blurred by the downpour.

My breath caught. My fingers trembled against the glass.

No. It couldn’t be.

It had been five years.

Five years since he disappeared without a trace. Since the last message—the one that simply read, When it rains, think of me.

And I had. Every storm. Every downpour. Every time the sky wept over Accra, I had thought of him.

My heart pounded. The rain blurred the window, distorting his figure. Was it really him, or just another ghost of my imagination?

The city had slowed, as it always did when the rain took over. Tro-tros honked impatiently. A woman in a bright kente cloth hurried past, shielding herself with a woven basket. The world moved, oblivious to the storm brewing inside me.

Then he turned.

And I knew.

It was him.

A sharp inhale, a decision made without thought—I flung the door open, the rain instantly drenching me. My feet splashed against the pavement as I ran.

“Kwame!”

The name left my lips before I could stop it.

He stood frozen, his dark eyes locking onto mine through the curtain of rain. The same eyes I had tried to forget. The same eyes that once held a thousand unspoken promises.

For a second, we just stared. The storm raged around us, but we stood still.

Then, slowly, he smiled.

That same lopsided smile. The one that used to make my heart race.

“Still dancing in the rain?” His voice was rough, familiar, like a song I had once known by heart.

I swallowed hard, emotions crashing over me like the waves at Labadi Beach. “You left.”

His smile faltered. “I had to.”

I should have been angry. I should have turned and walked away. But the rain had a way of washing away everything—fear, pride, hesitation.

“I waited,” I whispered.

“I know.” He took a step closer, the space between us vanishing. His fingers brushed against mine, tentative, testing. “I came back.”

The thunder rumbled again, but this time, it didn’t scare me.

Somewhere in the distance, a tro-tro radio crackled to life, playing an old highlife tune. The scent of roasting plantains and fresh rain filled the air.

And then, just as I looked up, I saw it.

The rainbow.

A perfect arch of colors stretching across the Accra sky, as if the heavens themselves had painted a promise.

A promise that some things, even after years of storms, could still find their way back.

I smiled.

“Oh,” I sighed, tilting my head back, letting the rain kiss my skin. “Such sweet rain.”

He reached for my hand. This time, I didn’t pull away.

The End.