The Rain That Started Our Story

The first time I met Joseph Dawson was at the bike repair shop at the alley's corner. It was pouring rain that day, and my bike chain was jammed in the gears. I squatted in the rain pulling at it for ages, my fingers stained with grease. He came walking over then, wearing a black windbreaker, the cuffs of his pants splattered with mud. He didn't say a word and just knelt down to help me fix the chain. Rainwater dripped down his jawline, falling onto the back of my hand—cool and light. Later, he said I looked like a little drenched kitten that day, with red eyes, and he was afraid I'd cry. I hadn't actually planned to cry, just was in a bit of a hurry to deliver medicine to Grandma. But I didn't tell him that, only watched his long fingers move skillfully among the gears. Ten minutes later, he pushed the fixed bike over to me and gave me a small smile. His teeth were so white, they gleamed through the rain and made me a little dazed. I asked him what his name was, and he said Joseph Dawson. I told him my name was Julia Donald. After that day, we slowly started to get closer. He would show up right on time under my office building when I got off work. Sometimes he'd be holding a cup of warm milk tea, other times a freshly baked sweet potato. I asked him how he knew I liked those things, and he said he just guessed. But actually, I knew it was because he asked the cleaning lady at our company. The cleaning lady later told me, "That young man came every day to ask, for almost a whole week." My heart felt a little sweet, and a little anxious too. It had been a long time since anyone cared about me like this. My parents passed away early, so I grew up with Grandma. Grandma wasn't in good health, so I worked hard, hoping to give her a better life. Joseph Dawson's arrival was like a ray of light, suddenly breaking through the grayness of my life. In our third year together, Grandma passed away. That day, I cried until I could hardly breathe. Joseph Dawson held me tightly, rubbing my back. He said that from then on, as long as he was there, he would always stay by my side. And I believed him. I thought we'd always be like this—getting married, having kids, growing old together. Until that day, when everything changed. That day after work, just as I reached the stairwell, two strangers covered my mouth. They shoved me into a van, and the seat inside reeked of sharp disinfectant. I struggled, but they held me down tightly. Through the window, I watched the streets slip further away until the van stopped at the gate of an abandoned factory. They dragged me inside, where a crowd stood tightly packed in darkness. A scar-faced man walked over, grabbed my chin, and said I was Joseph Dawson's woman. My heart tightened—they were here because of Joseph Dawson. The scar-faced man said Joseph Dawson owed them money and told him to bring five hundred thousand to ransom me. I knew Joseph Dawson didn't have any money; he had given it all to my Grandma's treatment. I told the scar-faced man, "I'll find a way to get the money, just don't hurt Joseph Dawson." The scar-faced man laughed and said I was protecting him, but he wasn't sure if Joseph Dawson would come to save me. I felt really panicked, but I believed in Joseph Dawson. I believe he will definitely come. Sure enough, that night, the factory gate was kicked open. Joseph Dawson was holding a steel pipe, standing at the door, his whole body covered in wounds. His eyes were fierce, like an enraged wolf's. The Scar-faced Man saw him, laughed, and said he really had guts to come alone. Joseph Dawson said nothing and charged straight in. That day, I witnessed the most brutal scene. Joseph Dawson fought dozens of people all by himself. His arm was slashed, and his leg was crippled, but he never stopped. Until the very end, the Scar-faced Man was knocked to the ground by him, and only then did he drag his injured body over to me. He crouched down, trying to untie my ropes, but suddenly collapsed. I called out his name, but he didn't respond.