London, Present time
Society is an amalgamation of misfits trying to blend in, hiding their imperfections so as not to be deemed unacceptable. Everyone is vying for attention and acceptance while shielding their innermost being. The loud lipsticks in the discotheque, the short skirts in colleges, the grades in school, the fancy car, the flashy phone- they are all trying to tell you 'I am one of you'. And then there are the suddenly disadvantaged few, who no matter what they do fail to blend in, and fail to contain who they are within themselves. The socially awkward ones that stand at the sidelines witnessing history pass by. The middle-aged woman was driving home from the office on a beautiful dry September day. It was a rare instance when the clouds forgot their four o'clock appointment with the city of London.
Aria stood at the corner, a bright yellow raincoat clashing against the clear blue sky. The sun poured down in steady beams, but she was bundled as though ready for a storm. She took a bite of her muffin, the crumbs dusting her hand. People passing gave her a curious look, probably wondering why she was dressed for a downpour on a dry, warm day. But Aria stayed rooted, her eyes far away, lost in thoughts she'd rather not share.
Across the street, a woman in a car waited for the light to change, glancing at Aria with a half-smile, wondering if she should offer to let her pass. Just as she started singing along with the radio—a Cardi B song pulsing through the car—the first drop splattered against her windshield. A few more drops followed, then a torrent. Rain in London wasn't a surprise anymore; the skies had been relentless for months. Within minutes, the heavens opened, and the sunny street transformed into a soaking scene of rushing umbrellas and frantic footsteps.
The rain pelted against Aria's raincoat, the hard plastic repelling each drop with sharp patters. But even as water slid off her coat, she felt something else soaking through, a weight pressing down that had nothing to do with the weather. Her expression remained distant, her lips curved slightly, but anyone who looked close enough would see the forced quality of that smile. With a deep breath, she reminded herself that her best friend would be back soon, but even that thought felt hollow. Her prescription had run out; she hadn't made time to refill it, telling herself it was fine, that it was just one less thing to rely on. The truth was, while her skin couldn't feel the cold, her mind was more exposed than ever.
Around her, Londoners moved in clusters, huddling under oversized umbrellas or shielding each other in fleeting moments of closeness. A young man slipped off his jacket to drape it over a woman's carefully styled hair; she laughed and pulled him close, the scene so tender it stung. Aria's hand moved absently to her pocket. She pulled out her phone, scrolling through names, hesitating on a few but finally slipping it back. She rubbed her hands together as if washing off the whole thought. The rain collected in puddles at her feet, and with a sigh, she popped open a small umbrella, protecting her head but letting her shoulders stay exposed to the rain. She hated using the hood, a holdover from childhood fears—old, silly superstitions her nanny used to tell her about creatures who wore hoods to hide their malice. Even now, the memory made her shiver.
As she walked, her gaze shifted up to the bruised, murky sky, a chill slipping over her that was more memory than reality. The dampness, the cold—all of it tugged her back to that day on the frozen lake. Her pulse quickened. She could still see the shattered ice, feel the rush of cold water swallowing her, hear the screams of her friends. She'd come out of that nightmare with nothing but drenched clothes and numb limbs. Her cousins had been scarred, marked with injuries that took toes and left shadows in their eyes. Her best friend hadn't been so lucky—pale, frozen, gone. And her father, once a safe harbor, had looked at her with something close to fear. That look was a barrier she'd never managed to cross again.
The sudden honk of a car jolted her back to the present, a reminder of the traffic moving again. She quickly turned, eyes darting around. Her parents had once told her she was a danger to others, that her presence somehow cursed those she loved. They never said it outright, but she'd pieced it together from the way they flinched, the way they whispered. Her father's flinch, her mother's quiet tears. When you're told often enough, you start to believe it.
Another flash split the sky, streaks of purple in the dimming dusk as a sheet of rain blew sideways across the street. The city was alive around her, filled with chatter and honking and the slosh of feet over puddles. Aria's day had been spent dropping her resume off at art galleries, hoping someone might look past her odd physical records. She knew most wouldn't. Most places wouldn't consider someone who couldn't feel pain or temperature—CIPA, the doctors had called it. Then there were the other labels, ones she didn't let strangers know about: agoraphobia, depression, loneliness. She'd learned to keep it all inside, to keep her face still, her heart unassuming, because the world seemed to recoil when she was anything else.
As Aria continued down the rain-slicked sidewalk, she glanced at the crowds darting into cafés and pubs, seeking shelter, or sharing hurried goodbyes with people they loved. Once, her parents had loved her too. She thought of her little sister, born just after that terrible accident, so precious and warm. Her parents had never said they were replacing her, but they didn't need to. Their careful distance said everything. They had given her everything they could—clothes, food, education. But love had slipped between their fingers, leaving her out in the cold.
She continued walking as the rain poured harder, her umbrella little more than a shield against memories trying to drown her.