It was November 13th, 1994. It was an especially gloomy afternoon. It were as if someone had put a black and white filter in the skies and on the streets. The sky was completely covered with clouds and not a ray of sunshine fell through. Rain was falling nonstop since that morning. The street itself was small and quiet, with the grey streets that seriously lacked noise, the small trees that appeared every ten meters down the road, and the month-old posters stuck to the walls and windows of shops on every corner. A few blocks down, there were rows and rows of two-story houses that had parts of paint peeling off of the walls. And just next to that was the public high school that’s been there since the 70s that everyone in the neighborhood went to.
She casually strolled down the road, stopping every now and then to admire the streets. There were less than a dozen people on the road, all rushing to find cover from the pouring rain. She didn’t understand that, though; she didn’t mind rain at all. Instead, she found it quite pleasant. The smooth, somewhat cold raindrops rolled down her skin, leaving a watery residue. She could hear the clattering as the rain fell on the ground, roof, and plants. And the smell. It’d be impossible to describe it. She believed petrichor was the word made just for the purpose of describing the scent. That, combined with the smell of the coffee shop a few meters away was just heavenly.
This was her hometown, where she lived for almost 17 years. She made memories here that were irreplaceable. She loved this place, and genuinely thought she would’ve lived here for the rest of her life. She truly missed her hometown and hoped she’d be able to stay for another couple of days, just so she’d be able to explore this place further and catch up with family and old friends. But, knowing that she would have to leave very soon, she turned around and left the neighborhood behind.