Maung Pout Htun - Raining Rain

Chapter (1)

On Christmas Eve, New York City was covered in a blanket of snow, a dazzling array of colors. Looking out the window into Central Park, the snow was falling in torrents, and the entire scene seemed to be blanketed in a blanket of white. Everything was still. It was quiet.

But when you look out onto the main roads, the scene changes. The streets are bustling with noise. Car horns are blaring continuously. People are shouting and cheering. You can hear the sound of footsteps, everything is moving. They are bustling.

The streets and alleys are bustling with pedestrians, carrying Christmas gifts in their arms as they walk towards their homes. The streets are filled with the sounds of Christmas carols, cheers, and laughter.

Santa Claus, completely ignoring the cold, is celebrating Christmas with a red face and a little bit of alcohol. Women are walking carefully on the snow, holding the hands of their children tightly. They are all very happy. Their faces are full of smiles. On this day, they are all united and in high spirits. Merry Christmas.., Happy New Year.. The apartment doormen are waving their hands happily to passersby after receiving Christmas gifts.

Christmas Eve is the happiest night for everyone. For children, it is a night they have been waiting for for months. For adults, it is a night to remember distant childhood and long-forgotten happy events. This day is a day for everyone to look back on the past, a day when hopes are rekindled, and a day when love and affection for each other grow.

It was late at night. The snow was still falling. But the traffic on the roads had gradually thinned. As the night wore on, the cold became bone-chilling. A few brave souls were still walking on the snow-covered roads. Walking on ice under a six-inch layer of snow was very difficult and dangerous.

By eleven o'clock at night, the traffic had completely stopped. New York City had become remarkably quiet. Only occasionally could you hear the distant honking of car horns and the hailing of taxis.

At that moment, about a dozen guests were leaving the Christmas party at 12 East 69th Street, laughing and singing in great joy. They were gathered around the Christmas tree, drinking glasses of champagne and wine. In return, the hosts gave the guests gifts of perfume, chocolates, scarves and books. The host had been a book critic for the New York Times. The host was a famous writer. The party guests included literary scholars, writers,

There are many famous people, including movie stars, actresses, singers, etc. The drinks and appetizers are poured one after another. The waiter and waitress are busy. This reception is held every year. The guests will eat and drink until three or four in the morning.

It was almost midnight when some of the guests were leaving. Among them was a woman with yellow hair. She was wearing a hat and a long fur coat. Her slender body was wrapped in a long fur coat, and the collar was turned up to keep her cool, half of her face was covered. She said goodbye to her host, her husband, and her friends and walked home. She had been in a rental car with other friends and didn’t want to go back. She had been in the crowd all day long, and now she didn’t want to see anyone and wanted to be alone. Every year on Christmas Eve, she felt sad. That’s why she had never attended any Christmas parties in the past and stayed home alone. But this year, she deliberately went to the Christmas party. She had been disconnected from people for a long time. Now she wanted to go back to the wild. She wanted to see people, even if it was just for a short while. For years, she had been indoors.

His friends were surprised when he came out from where he had been living. They were also happy to see him again.

"I'm so happy to see you again, Daphne. Daphne is back, right? So what book are you writing now?"

"There's only one more book, the beginning."

His large, blue eyes were calm and charming. His expression was so pure and delicate that it was hard to even guess his age.

"So the book I'm writing now will be finished next week, huh huh?"

He's an amazing writer, so he's being asked this question. But last year, he was filming one of his novels, so he didn't write a single novel.

He didn't say anything, he just smiled. But his smile wasn't the same old, innocent smile, but a more cheerful and refreshing smile. He was now a tough guy who was teased by his friends. People admired him. They admired him. They respected him. These three qualities were unique to him. They were the most worthy of him.

The writer Daphne Field is very secretive. She doesn't go out with people. She lives alone. And she works a lot. She is very ambitious. She is decisive. Although she is sometimes seen in literary circles, she doesn't talk much to people and doesn't show herself to people. She lives like an ordinary person. However,

When you see his face, you are captivated at first sight. His face is clear. It is sharp. His eyes seem to be able to see through everything. At the same time, it seems like he is pretending not to see.

Ten years ago, his behavior was completely different from what it is now. He was only twenty-three years old at that time. Back then, he was a social person. He was cheerful. He was aggressive. He was happy. But now, those behaviors were gone. Now, he was calm and composed. His once cheerful demeanor was only a shadow in his eyes. The tragic events of the past seemed to be buried somewhere in his heart like embers.

"Daphne"

At the corner of Madison Avenue, someone called out to me from behind, and I turned around. I heard footsteps coming through the snow. "Oh, Jack, who am I?"

Jack Hawking was the director of the editorial department at Harper and Jones, the publisher of Daphne's novels. His face was red from the snow. "Isn't it cold to walk? ... Let's rent a car," Daphne shook her head and smiled.

"No problem, Jack, thank you. I came here on purpose. I live just down the street."

"It's getting late, the clock is already striking twelve."

Jack was a lonely woman at night, so he spoke with genuine sincerity. The other thing was that he liked Daphne very much. Other people would like her as well. Daphne, who was now thirty-three, looked twenty-five. Sometimes she even looked like a twelve-year-old child. Her face and figure were always young. Fresh, but if you looked closely, her eyes betrayed the pain of loneliness. Daphne was lonely. Jack thought that a woman like her should not be lonely.

"Christmas Eve, Jack. I don't think we'd be doing anything wrong in this cold weather," Daphne said, jokingly and affectionately.

"Jack Hawking smiled."

"Yes, of course, but I'm afraid you might accidentally slip on the ice."

"Oh, don't worry if I slip and break my arm and can't write, the book I'm writing now will be finished by the end of April."

"Come on, come home with us and let's relax."

"Come on, drink some alcohol."

Daphne stood up and kissed Jack Hawking on the cheek. Then, patting his shoulder,

"Now you two go, Jack, I'll walk alone, thank you."

Then he waved to Jack and left. He pulled the collars of his coat tightly together and continued walking down the street. He didn't look at the shop windows on the left or at the faces of the people passing by.

The fresh air made him feel like he was experiencing something special. Walking now felt more peaceful than eating at the party earlier in the evening. Going to parties always made him feel tired. No matter how grand the party was or who he met, nothing special happened to him, it was just boring.

However, Daphne had deliberately wanted to attend tonight's party. She had come because she didn't want to sit alone in her room. Sitting alone in her room would remind her of the past. She didn't want to remember the past at all. She wanted to forget it completely. Even as she walked, the shadows from the past were still vaguely visible. She walked briskly so that the past wouldn't enter her mind.

I walked. I scanned the traffic. I saw nothing. A little boy was running towards the corner. The light was green. I was crossing Madison Avenue with a brisk walk when I suddenly slipped and fell. I got up quickly, using both hands to support myself. As I turned left to cross the street, I was met by a speeding car coming from the corner.

A red station wagon drove past him. A woman sitting next to the driver screamed in shock, followed by a crash, a groan from inside the car, and the sound of tires scraping against the ice. Then everything went quiet. After a while, the doors swung open and half a dozen people clamored out of the car. There was no sound, no words, no screams. The driver ran to where Daphne had fallen. Daphne lay face down on the ice like a broken toy.

"Oh my God, is life still there?"

The driver paused, stunned, then turned to the woman standing next to him, his eyes filled with a mixture of shock and anger. Wasn't this car accident his fault?

The sense that it was someone else's fault was evident in his eyes. But he didn't blame anyone anymore, he just kept looking at it like this, "Don't do it, report it to the police," he told his companions, and then knelt down next to Daphne. But he didn't dare touch Daphne. He was very scared at the thought of her being dead.

"Is he... still alive?"

Another man asked as he sat next to the driver. His breath smelled strongly of alcohol.

I don't know."

Daphne wasn't breathing or moving. The driver examined Daphne with his hand and whispered in a loud voice.

"I killed him, Harry, I killed him."

He turned to look at his friend. The two of them were kneeling, hugging each other.

At that moment, two taxis and an empty bus pulled up in front of their room. The drivers ran out.

"What happened, how did it happen?"

Everything became animated. Voices of conversation emerged.

".... He ran in front of the car... He didn't look at the car at all - the car didn't see him at all... The ice was so slippery... You couldn't brake at all."

"I don't know where the police are sleeping in the meantime."

The driver said angrily, brushing the snow off his body. An hour ago, they had been singing and having fun. Now, a woman was lying face down on the ice in front of him. Whether she was dead or dying, he didn't know. There was no sign of any traffic police nearby.

"Here...here...little girl...do you remember? Do you remember?"

: The old black bus driver knelt next to Daphne.

He sat down and asked. Then he put his face close to Daphne's face and listened to her breathing. "It's okay, she's not dead yet." He looked up at the other people and said, "Don't you have a shirt? Hurry up and get a shirt." No one moved. He shouted angrily, "Give me one, give me a shirt." The station wagon driver was acting like a fool. "Hey, this girl is dying, what's going on? Take her off, take her off quickly." The station wagon driver and the other two quickly took off their coats. The bus driver, not doing anything to the patient, wrapped Daphne's coat tightly around her. He also gave her a light layer of clothing underneath to keep her face from getting cold.