“Coraaaa,” floats a laugh, like a melody drifting on the breeze, the 19-year-old next to me, a bright spark of mischief. “Mallllly,” I reply, laughter bubbling in my throat. In a flash, water arcs through the air—his playful attack, a cascade of droplets that glimmer like jewels.
“Oh, so we’re playing dirty now?” I tease, my heart a flutter of joy, and I raise my hands skyward, summoning the clouds. A delicate circle of rain descends, a silken veil that envelops Malachi, drenching him in a playful shower.
“When I was sixteen,” he says, laughter threading through his words like music, “I could barely coax a crack from the earth. Yet here you are, commanding the skies to drench only me.” His eyes sparkle, alive with admiration. “You’re amazing.”
He draws me closer, our laughter mingling with the rain, the world narrowing to just us. I gaze up into the warmth of his big brown eyes, where galaxies twinkle in their depths. Then, with a hush that silences the storm, he bends down, and our lips meet—a kiss wrapped in the soft embrace of the rain, sweet and electric, a promise whispered in the storm.