I meet him coming across campus, 6:30 p.m. He's just a black, vaguely human shape with his head down against the rain, and in the sinking blue light we nearly miss each other. I look up at the right moment and say "Hi," and we both sort of stop short. I fumble out my umbrella, open it to cover my nervousness. He takes it from me. Logistically, it just makes sense; he's half a foot taller than I am and he can hold it over both of us more easily than me. It throws me into this half-awkward position, angled towards him, staring up. We talk just a little bit, about inconsequential things. He's on his way to class and I'm on my way home. I can smell him, and rain, too, he smells like some fading cologne and the rain smells, well, like rain, and in the act of returning the umbrella his hand touches mine, and the next moment we've each turned in our separate directions.
Sometimes it's nice, to end your day with an unexplainable grin plastered across your face, giddy as a schoolgirl despite the constant rain.