Music glided through a chalet on a calm cloudy autumn afternoon. Music was a familiar classic. If someone who was playing, that someone must be quite an accomplished violinist.
The breeze was soothing and carried enough
moisture. It would start raining anytime.
The branches of magnolia tree waltzed to
the tunes of zephyr welcoming the rain goddess. Leaves giggled even as tiny
droplets kissed them. Magnolia buds blushed at every brush with the drop. Soon,
drizzling became a downpour.
There was no one except her on the battered
boulevard. The lone chalet with its stone roof and no windows seemed as warm as
a winter cold. Her flowing waterfall of black hair was wet. It was hard to tell
the colour of her eyes in the slashing rain. She was laughing mirthlessly.
The music had stopped. “Magnolia,”
a voice called.
Then, there was nothing but the sound of
rain.
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