We were sixteen when I first saw her, standing under a mango tree with rain dripping from her braids, laughing at nothing at all.
I forgot my name when she smiled at me. She asked if I was lost. I said yes, though I was standing right in front of my own house.
We walked home together that evening, sharing one small umbrella and saying almost nothing. Somewhere between the gate and the road, my heart quietly decided it belonged to her.
Years have passed and life has taken us to different places. But whenever the rain falls, I am sixteen again, and for a moment she is still laughing under that mango tree.
Some people are just a chapter. She was the first line of my story.